#it should be easy enough to scroll past

[buttercuparry]

It is deeply sickening how even privacy has become a luxury for palestinians who are fundraising on this website. Since October 7th, Gazans have had to document their own genocide at great cost to themselves for no fault of their own;  they have had to risk their lives to show you the bombings; they have had to record themselves bleeding. 

They have had to show the tremendous personal loss they have suffered and their grief of it - all so that the Zionist narrative wouldn't be the only thing that gets peddled around in the digital space. But it seems like the more the months pass, and the atrocities keep mounting - the more people in the online space become desensitized to the suffering, and in fact are convinced that they are owed these documentation to even begin to care ( it has become especially clear after the recent smear campaign that put the entire demographic under horrible scrutiny ). 

It is honestly so disgustingly voyeuristic to me- this demand to be allowed into someone’s grief so that you can be convinced that they too are of flesh and blood, to demand that they put their suffering on display for your judgement on their authenticity, to put the burden on THEM to do the work of breaking you out of your easy apathy towards their suffering.

For months, my friend Siraj Abudayeh ( @siraj2024 ) has tried to protect his and his family’s privacy. For months he has talked of Gaza and given you updates as is his capacity as a journalist. He thought that this would be enough for the people to understand just how much his family has to fight everyday to survive. But it seems like that didn't really cut it for a lot of users on tumblr, because his fundraiser stagnates every 12 hours when his updates stop circulating around tumblr. 

So as much as it pains him to share this with an apathetic audience that may very well scroll past this post- he has agreed to talk a bit about his precious son, Amir, who has fallen sick with an infectious skin disease. 

So don't you dare ignore this!!

You have demanded that Siraj perform; that he prove that he is a real person with a real family to protect- so here is Siraj with a story about his son. It is a reflection of how desperate he feels to willingly give up the privacy he fought to protect for months. So you better pay attention now!

Siraj's son Amir is a stubborn boy. It is impossible to move him from his position once he is convinced of something. This also makes him competitive and Siraj is proud to say that Amir had been on his school’s swimming team. “First level in the swimming course,” Siraj tells me with obvious pride. Amir has an exceptional ability to memorize too- quickly moving through his lessons and thus almost always having a place in the school celebrations of outstanding students. 

Amir is stubbornly kind too. Amidst the bombings - this little boy didn't think of only saving himself. He carried his cat Jimmy all the way from the North of Gaza to the South. In Siraj’s words: He did not leave Jimmy for a moment, not even to take his shoes off, when it tore after hours of walking. 

The two month old cat died a month into their displacement - with no food available, Amir had to watch his beloved pet waste away, desperate and yet unable to help in anyway. Tell me now, is this horrifying tidbit sufficient documentation of Amir’s unchilding? Is this enough? 

Or do you also want to know of the shock Amir received on learning that his cousins have been martyred? Will you make Siraj describe this in all of its horrifying detail too? How his child has lost so much of his childhood to this war when he should be studying, going to school, and playing with his brothers and friends instead?

Their books, their school, their pet, their toys have all been lost in this genocide. Do they have to lay out all the indignities they are facing at your feet, do they have to lose the litle privacy they have left in that cramped, pest-ridden tent of theirs to convince you to not turn the other way?

Tell me what will finally be enough to make you pay attention?? What would be enough to convince you that Siraj’s survival fund is as much an emergency as all the other evacuation funds ?? I will ask him to share and we can all lay it out for you, because apparently some of you need a record of all that suffering presented to you like its a portfolio to give a fuck.

Siraj is tired, his wife Halima is too. Amir and his siblings have lost so much of themselves during these past 10 months. None of them are the people they used to be, and it is something they will carry for the rest of their lives!!

So please!

Please if Siraj has performed enough for you, then fucking donate to his campaign.

He has been fundraising from June!!! He has talked to hundreds of people and has bonded with enough of them to be considered a personal friend of theirs. Many have even agreed to share his story and many others have offered to hold commissions and raffles for him- but despite this, he still hasn't even crossed the halfway mark of his campaign yet!! What can a handful of friends do? When the mass of tumblr population isn't convinced of his suffering!

Amir is in constant pain right now due to the infection- and his brothers are beginning to show similar symptoms as him. They are all very unwell. 

The money would go to helping Amir and his brothers survive!!

I can't tell you how frustrating it is to see this everyday when i personally know just how much Siraj sacrifices to make his presence known here- from braving the 3km route when he can get caught in crossfire- all so that he may have a hotspot connection at an exorbitant price. It burns away the money that might have gone into acquiring food and water.

WE ARE RUNNING OUT OF TIME!!!

SIRAJ NEEDS TO GET TO 40K WITHIN THIS WEEK SO THAT WE CAN BEGIN TO WORK TOWARDS THE LATTER HALF OF THE CAMPAIGN.

THIS IS URGENT. SIRAJ NEEDS TO MOVE ONTO HIS NEXT GOALS AS SOON AS POSSIBLE TO GET HIS KIDS TO SAFETY!

PLEASE DONATE ANY AMOUNT YOU CAN SPARE, THIS CANNOT WAIT.

Every MINUTE, every  SECOND we delay meeting his goal, it costs siraj and his family more than some of us will ever understand.

Please help him out. It is the least we can do right now-> vetting at 219 on Hussein's spreadsheet.

[rafecameronssl4t]

F1 driver!Rafe x Reader! As someone that loves watching F1, I'm so happy you're doing this, and damn fans can be vicious sometimes so it gave me an idea. Maybe Reader is getting hate online, with jelaousy comments, saying that ''she's not pretty enough, she's so basic looking, I don't understand what he sees in her, I guess anyone has a chance with Rafe,''. And gradually the words get to her, making her really self concious when she's around him in public, girls near him that are (in her opinion) prettier and eventuallys she tries to break up with him, but he does not let her (not in a toxic way, more so because he loves her and isn't going to let anyone come between them)

Public eye || F1 driver!Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

A/n: So sorry this took awhile!!!!!! But thank you for the request it was sm fun to write :)

Warnings: angst, mental health struggles, bullying and online harassment, if theres anything else lmk!

Word count: 2, 946

MASTERLIST (F1 driver!Rafe x fem!reader au masterlist)

Your fingers hovered hesitantly over the comment section of the video, your heart beating just a little faster as you stared at the screen. The clip, a simple moment of you and Rafe walking into the paddock, was already gathering attention. He was beside you, his hand casually draped over your shoulder as you both made your way through the crowd, looking every bit like a power couple.

You could still hear the soft hiss of the shower jets from the bathroom, Rafe taking his time to wash off the stress of the race. You should have been doing something productive, but the pull of curiosity was too strong. Lately, your presence on social media had been growing—both the praise and the hate.

You’d never been one to look at the comments, always avoiding the spotlight, but today… something felt different. You clicked on the comment section, your thumb hovering nervously over the screen as you scrolled down. The first few comments were harmless, even flattering. “You two are perfect together,” one said. “Her smile is contagious,” said another.

Your lips curved into a faint smile as you read through them, the warmth of their compliments offering a brief comfort. For a moment, you forgot about the nagging feeling building in your chest. But then the tone shifted. You could feel your stomach tighten as the first negative comment appeared. “She looks so out of place with him,” one user wrote, followed by another comment: “She doesn’t belong in paddock.”

Your fingers trembled slightly, but you tried to push the discomfort aside. It was just one comment. You kept scrolling. More criticisms followed. Someone commented on your outfit: “Why does she dress like that? She looks like she’s trying too hard.” Another user posted, “She looks so stiff next to him. Does she even smile?” A sharp sting pierced your chest, and you tried to shake it off, but it wasn’t easy.

You’d spent so much time trying to dress right, trying to look the part, but now it felt like none of it mattered. “Her resting face is so rude,” one person said. Another added, “She looks miserable. Why does she always look so cold around Rafe?” You couldn’t help but feel your stomach drop. You knew you had a more serious expression, but it hurt to see it picked apart like this, as if your face wasn’t enough.

You quickly scrolled past more hurtful comments, but the damage had already been done. The video, which had once seemed like a simple moment between you and Rafe, now felt like an invasion of your privacy, like everyone was judging you. You glanced back at the bathroom door, where the sound of Rafe still hummed softly from the shower, completely unaware of the thoughts swirling in your head.

Your hands tightened around your phone, and you felt the familiar weight of insecurities settling in. You weren’t sure why this time felt worse than before. Maybe it was the fact that you were constantly being compared to Rafe’s world now, his fame, his fans, his life in the spotlight. It felt suffocating at times, and the negativity from strangers only made it worse.

You took a shaky breath, trying to pull yourself together. This wasn’t about you. It was about Rafe, and his world. You tried to convince yourself that you didn’t need their validation, but the ache in your chest remained. Before you could sink any deeper into the spiral of your thoughts, the bathroom door creaked open, and Rafe’s voice, still heavy with the sound of water dripping, called out to you.

“Hey, everything alright?” Rafe’s voice was soft as he stepped into the room, the steam from his shower trailing behind him. His towel hung low on his hips, droplets of water still clinging to his skin. His brows furrowed slightly when his eyes landed on you, the tension in your posture giving you away. You swallowed hard, quickly flipping your phone face-down on the bed as you forced a small, unconvincing smile.

“Yeah, just… tired. It’s been a long day.” Rafe didn’t seem entirely convinced. His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, his lips pressing into a thin line as if he were debating whether to push further. Instead, he let it slide, disappearing into the closet to grab a pair of boxers. When he returned, his tone was casual, though there was an edge of curiosity in his voice.

“Did you want to walk in with me tomorrow?” he asked, tossing the towel into the hamper before slipping on boxers. He moved with practiced ease, his body language as relaxed as ever. It was a question you’d heard countless times before, something routine between the two of you, but tonight, it felt heavier. Different. You nibbled on your bottom lip, his question tugging you back to the comments you’d just read.

She looks out of place next to him… She doesn’t belong there. The words replayed in your head like a taunting echo. You hesitated before replying, your voice quieter than usual. Your fingers toyed with the edge of the duvet as you hesitated. “Uh, I think I’ll come a bit after,” you said finally, trying to sound casual, though the slight tremor in your voice betrayed you. Rafe paused for a moment, his head tilting slightly as he considered your answer.

His brows furrowed just enough to show that he noticed the shift in your tone, but he didn’t push. Instead, he hummed in acknowledgment, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer before he climbed into bed. Once settled, he turned his attention back to you, his head propped on his hand as he studied your face. “You sure you’re okay?” he asked again, his voice softer now, laced with genuine concern.

You nodded quickly, your smile brighter this time, though it still didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Yeah. I promise, I’m fine,” you said, hoping the words sounded convincing. But even as you said them, your mind was still swirling with doubt, the insecurities clawing at the edges of your composure. Rafe didn’t seem entirely convinced, but he let it slide for now. Instead, he reached out and tugged you gently toward him, his arms wrapping around your body in a warm, familiar embrace.

His lips brushed softly against your temple before trailing down to your shoulder. “I love you,” he murmured, his voice low and steady, like an anchor. A shaky breath escaped your lips as you nestled into his chest, the comfort of his presence momentarily dulling the ache in your heart. “I love you too,” you whispered back, your voice almost trembling.

~

Walking into the paddock alongside Rafe’s PR manager, Mia, you couldn’t shake the weight of countless eyes on you. It felt suffocating, as though everyone’s gaze was dissecting your every move, every expression. The hum of chatter and camera shutters blended into an almost deafening background noise, and you couldn’t help but wonder what they were saying—or thinking.

Were they silently judging you? Waiting for you to stumble, to make some minor misstep they could pounce on? The thought sent a sharp pang of anxiety through your chest. It wasn’t just paranoia; you’d seen how quickly narratives could form online, how a single bad photo could spiral into accusations and labels. If you weren’t smiling enough, they’d say you were cold, ungrateful. If you stood too close to Rafe, they’d call you clingy. Too far, and you’d seem distant, uninterested.

Your grip on your paddock pass tightened, glancing briefly at Mia, who was confidently walking ahead, her phone in hand, seemingly oblivious to the tension building inside you. She had a way of carrying herself that made it seem like none of this affected her—like the noise bounced off her shield of professionalism. You envied her for that. The click of a camera somewhere to your left made your heart skip a beat.

You didn’t dare look, afraid of what expression might’ve been caught. You straightened your posture instead, forcing a faint smile that felt unnatural, plastered on for the sake of appearances. The effort felt exhausting, but it was what you’d learned to do in this world—pretend you didn’t notice, pretend it didn’t hurt. As you walked, you could feel whispers trailing in your wake, the murmurs mingling with the mechanical hum of the paddock.

Were they talking about your outfit? Your hair? The fact that you weren't walking in with Rafe? It was a never-ending game of scrutiny, and you felt like a chess piece on a board you barely understood. "Hey, are you good?" Mia's voice pulled you out of your spiraling thoughts. Her tone was light, accompanied by a small chuckle as she caught the distant look in your eyes.

You blinked rapidly, turning to her with a startled expression. “Sorry, what?” you asked, your voice slightly shaky. She chuckled again, tilting her head curiously. “Are you okay? You seem nervous,” she repeated, her eyes scanning your face as the two of you approached the Ferrari area. “Yeah! Yeah—I’m fine, just jet lagged,” you replied quickly, your tone a little too chipper to be convincing. You added a casual shrug for good measure, hoping it would sell the lie.

Mia’s gaze lingered for a moment, but she slowly nodded, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Alright, if you say so. I’ve got to go organise Rafe for his interview. Will you be okay by yourself? I think Austin’s around here somewhere,” she said, glancing around the bustling paddock. “Yeah, of course, go ahead. I’ll look for him,” you assured her with a polite smile.

She nodded, giving you a quick wave before disappearing into the chaos, leaving you alone amidst the buzz of mechanics, media personnel, and fans. You continued walking, your eyes darting around in search of a familiar face. The usual hum of the paddock felt louder now, almost oppressive, as you noticed more phones and cameras turning in your direction. A knot tightened in your stomach.

Normally, you could brush it off, but today the weight of their stares was unbearable. Biting your bottom lip nervously, you quickened your pace, practically darting into the safety of the Ferrari garage. The moment you stepped inside, a voice called out to you, making you pause. “Y/n!” Relief flooded your chest as you spotted Austin waving you over from the balcony of the hospitality area.

“Hey!” you greeted him warmly, embracing him in a quick hug. “Rafe should be done with his interview pretty soon,” Austin said, glancing at his watch. You hummed in response, setting your things down on the table before joining him at the railing. The two of you leaned against it, looking down at the sea of people navigating the paddock below. “Yeah, Rafe and I were planning to head back to OBX for a week after—”

Your words trailed off as your eyes froze on a group of girls huddled together, their phones unmistakably aimed in your direction. Their whispering and laughter sent a chill through you, making your shoulders stiffen visibly. Noticing your silence, Austin followed your gaze. His brows furrowed in concern. “You okay?” he asked, his voice soft but probing.

You swallowed hard, tearing your eyes away from the girls. “I-uh—I’ll just sit down for a bit,” you muttered, moving back toward the table. Austin watched you carefully, his confusion evident. “Do you know them?” You shook your head, avoiding his gaze. After a moment, he sighed, his tone shifting to something more knowing. “Have you been reading comments again?”

The question made your head snap up, your eyes meeting his. You didn’t respond, but your silence was enough. “Y/n,” he said gently, pulling out a chair across from you and sitting down. “You know those are just jealous people who wish they were in your position, right?” “I know,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “But they still hurt, Austin.”

“I know they do,” he admitted, leaning forward. “But think about it—what they’re saying about you… Is any of it true?” You bit your lip, your gaze dropping to your phone as you hesitated. “They’re not,” Austin continued firmly. “Because they don’t even know you. But we do. Rafe does. Don’t let them get to you. They’re just miserable people trying to make someone else miserable too.”

His words sunk in, easing some of the tightness in your chest. A small smile crept onto your lips, the warmth of his reassurance breaking through the cloud of doubt. “Thanks, Austin. I really appreciate it,” you said, your voice softer now but filled with genuine gratitude. He grinned back, leaning back in his chair with an air of casual confidence.

“Anytime. Now, let’s get you smiling again before Rafe gets back, or he’ll never let me hear the end of it.” You chuckled lightly, feeling just a little lighter as the weight of those comments began to fade, replaced by the comfort of a friend who truly understood.

~

The jets in the bathroom continued to hum, the sound blending into the background as you stared at your phone screen, your chest tightening with every cruel word you read. The image of you and Rafe walking into the paddock, so innocuous and routine, had somehow become the catalyst for a torrent of negativity.

Your throat constricted, and you bit down hard on your bottom lip, trying to keep the tears at bay. But it was too much. The weight of their words pressed on you, an avalanche of insecurities crashing down. You dropped your phone onto the bed as though it had burned you, standing there frozen for a moment, your hands trembling.

The bathroom door creaked open, and Rafe stepped out, a towel slung low on his hips, droplets of water clinging to his skin. His carefree, post-shower demeanour faltered the moment his eyes landed on you. “Hey,” he said cautiously, stepping closer. “What’s wrong?” You shook your head, quickly wiping at your cheeks, but the tears had already betrayed you. “Nothing, I’m fine.”

“Don’t lie to me.” His tone was firmer now, his blue eyes scanning your face for answers. He glanced at your phone lying facedown on the bed, and his expression hardened as he pieced it together. “Did you read the comments again?” The lump in your throat grew, and you couldn’t speak, your silence confirming his suspicion.

Rafe let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his damp hair. “Y/n, why do you let them get to you? They’re just a bunch of—” “It’s not just them, Rafe!” you snapped, cutting him off. The words spilled out before you could stop them, sharp and heavy. “This is my life now—being constantly judged, criticised, compared. It’s exhausting. I can’t do this anymore.”

His brows furrowed in confusion and alarm. “What are you saying?” “I’m saying I can’t be with you anymore,” you said, your voice breaking as the words left your lips. “I don’t think I can do this anymore.” Rafe’s face fell, his confident façade cracking in an instant. “What? No. No, that’s not happening.” “Rafe—”

“No!” He stepped closer, his voice low but desperate. “You’re not doing this because of a bunch of idiots online who don’t know anything about us.” “It’s not just them!” you cried, the dam of emotions finally breaking. “It’s everything! The constant attention, the pressure, the way people look at me like I’m not good enough for you. And maybe they’re right! Maybe I’m not!”

“Don’t you dare say that,” he interrupted, his voice rough with emotion. He reached for your hands, holding them tightly even as you tried to pull away. “You are good enough. You’re more than good enough, Y/n.” “I can’t keep living like this, Rafe,” you whispered, tears streaming down your face. “I feel like I’m losing myself.

Rafe’s grip on your hands tightened as if letting go would make your words true. “I don’t care what they say. None of it matters to me. You matter. You’re the only thing that matters.” Your lips trembled as you looked into his eyes, the sincerity there almost too much to bear. “But what if I can’t handle it?” “Then I’ll help you handle it,” he said firmly, his voice softening as he pulled you closer.

“You’re not doing this alone. I love you, Y/n. I don’t care what those people think. They mean nothing to me—nothing.” You let out a shaky breath as his words washed over you, your resolve weakening under the weight of his conviction. Rafe cupped your face gently, his thumbs wiping away your tears. “Please don’t do this,” he whispered, his voice breaking slightly. “We’ll get through it together. I promise.”

For a long moment, you just stood there, your forehead resting against his as you tried to steady your breathing. The pain was still there, raw and jagged, but so was the love in his voice, in his touch. “I don’t know if I can be enough,” you whispered. “You already are,” he replied without hesitation. “You’ve always been enough for me.” And somehow, in his arms, the weight of the world felt just a little lighter.

[fioredeciliego]

Mommy Issues - Karina x Fem!Reader

11.2k words

Moving to another country wasn’t supposed to be easy. That was the mantra Y/N repeated to herself as she dragged her luggage through the crowded halls of Schiphol Airport. The Netherlands—a world away from the life she had known, filled with unfamiliar faces, a foreign language, and customs she barely understood. Yet, this was what she wanted. This was freedom.

It had taken months to plan, years to gather the courage. Back home, there was no peace. Privacy was a luxury she could never afford in a house that was always full: her mother, her three younger siblings, the constant noise. And then there was her mother herself—a complicated, volatile presence that dominated Y/N’s life. For years, Y/N had felt more like a caretaker than a daughter, shouldering responsibilities that weren’t hers to bear. It wasn’t all bad; she loved her siblings dearly and had moments with her mother that reminded her of the love buried under the chaos. But it was never enough to outweigh the suffocating sense of inadequacy and anxiety.

She rolled her suitcase to the curb and hailed a taxi, her heart hammering in her chest as she gave the driver her new address. The cityscape of Amsterdam blurred past the window as she tried to breathe deeply, grounding herself in the present. She’d rented a small studio apartment on the outskirts of the city—a modest space, but it was hers. No one would barge in uninvited. No one would demand things of her. No one would criticize her every move.

When the taxi stopped, she lugged her suitcase up the narrow staircase to her apartment. The first thing she noticed was how quiet it was. The silence felt foreign, almost eerie, after years of constant noise. She stood in the center of the room, taking in the plain white walls, the tiny kitchenette, the single window overlooking the street below. It wasn’t much, but it was hers.

As she unpacked, her phone buzzed on the counter. Her stomach twisted when she saw the caller ID: Mom.

She hesitated, staring at the screen until it went dark. The phone buzzed again, and this time, she answered.

“Hello?” Her voice was small, almost drowned out by the static of the poor connection.

“Y/N, where are you?” her mother’s voice demanded, sharp and accusatory. “Why didn’t you tell me you landed?”

“I just got in,” Y/N said, already bracing herself for the onslaught. “I was going to call you once I settled.”

“You should have called me right away. Do you know how worried I’ve been? You don’t think about anyone but yourself.”

Y/N closed her eyes, gripping the edge of the counter until her knuckles turned white. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, the words automatic, devoid of feeling.

Her mother launched into a familiar tirade about how selfish Y/N was, how ungrateful. She didn’t ask about the flight, the new apartment, or how Y/N was feeling. It was all about her mother’s own anxiety, her fears, her sacrifices. Y/N listened in silence, letting the words wash over her. She’d heard it all before.

When the call finally ended, Y/N sank onto the couch, tears prickling her eyes. She’d left the country to escape this, yet her mother’s voice still echoed in her head, a constant reminder of her failures. She wanted to scream, to cry, to do something, but instead, she sat there, staring at the bare walls of her new home.

--

The next few days passed in a blur of monotony. Wake up. Go to work. Eat alone. Come home. Watch TV. Sleep. Repeat. The job was unremarkable, a desk position at a small marketing firm. Her coworkers were polite but distant, their conversations flowing effortlessly in Dutch while Y/N fumbled with basic phrases. She spent her lunch breaks alone, scrolling through her phone and pretending not to notice the sidelong glances from her colleagues.

The weekends offered a slight reprieve. Y/N explored the city, wandering through parks, visiting museums, and losing herself in the maze of canals. She loved the quiet moments, the freedom to go wherever she wanted without answering to anyone. But even in the midst of Amsterdam’s beauty, she couldn’t shake the loneliness that clung to her like a shadow.

Her mother called almost every day, and every call left Y/N feeling more drained than the last. Her siblings would sometimes grab the phone, their voices bright and eager as they told her about school and their friends. Those moments were the only ones that brought a genuine smile to her face. She missed them terribly, but the thought of going back—of returning to that stifling environment—was unthinkable.

One evening, as she sat on the couch with a bowl of instant noodles, her phone buzzed again. She didn’t even need to look to know who it was.

“Hello?” she answered, her voice flat.

“Y/N, have you thought about what I said?” her mother’s voice was softer this time, almost pleading. “You don’t have to stay there. You can come home. We need you here.”

“I can’t,” Y/N said, her throat tightening. “I need to do this for myself.”

“Your siblings miss you. I miss you.”

Y/N’s grip on the phone tightened. “I miss you too. But I can’t come back. Not now.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. “Fine,” her mother said, her tone laced with disappointment. “Do what you want.”

The call ended, leaving Y/N feeling hollow. She set the phone down and leaned back, staring at the ceiling. She’d thought putting distance between them would help, but the weight of her mother’s expectations still bore down on her, even from thousands of miles away.

--

The following week, Y/N found herself walking aimlessly through Vondelpark, the crisp autumn air a welcome distraction from the thoughts swirling in her head. She’d taken to spending her lunch breaks there, finding solace in the rustling leaves and the laughter of children playing nearby.

She sat on a bench, pulling out a small notebook she’d started carrying with her. Writing had always been a form of escape for her, a way to process the chaos in her mind. She scribbled down a few lines, her thoughts tumbling onto the page:

I just want to feel loved. Truly loved. Not out of obligation or guilt. Loved for who I am, not for what I can do for others.

She stared at the words, her chest tightening. It felt selfish to admit, but it was the truth. For once in her life, she wanted someone to take care of her, to make her feel safe. She wanted what she’d never had—unconditional love.

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

The morning sunlight poured through the window of the cozy townhouse nestled in a quiet neighborhood of Amsterdam. Jimin stretched lazily, her fingers brushing against the edge of her soft duvet. The faint aroma of freshly brewed coffee drifted up from the kitchen, signaling the start of another peaceful day.

Her family was always an anchor of stability in her life. Her mother, a warm and nurturing presence, was undoubtedly the heart of their home. She had a knack for making anyone feel welcome, whether it was through her perfectly brewed tea or her way of listening that made you feel truly heard. Jimin’s father balanced her mother’s kindness with his grounded practicality, always ready with a steady hand or a piece of advice. Her older sister, Hana, was her confidante and occasional partner-in-crime, always there to lend an ear or offer her unabashed honesty. Together, they formed a bubble of unconditional love that Jimin knew she was lucky to have.

Yet, even with this steadfast support system, a void lingered in her heart—an unspoken yearning for someone to share her life with.

Jimin rose from her bed, padding over to the window to look out at the serene street below. “Another day,” she murmured to herself. She glanced at her phone to see a string of messages from her best friends lighting up the screen.

Aeri: “Morning! Don’t forget, you’re walking Cooper today.”

Minjeong: “Bet she forgets and we have to chase the dog again.”

Yizhuo: “Minjeong’s just mad because Cooper likes Jimin better.”

Jimin chuckled, her heart lightening. Her friends were like family. They had been inseparable since childhood, navigating the ups and downs of life together. If her family provided her foundation, her friends were the walls and roof that sheltered her from life’s storms. But even with them, Jimin felt that persistent ache for something… or someone… she couldn’t quite name.

--

After a quick breakfast, Jimin arrived at Aeri’s house to pick up Cooper, Aeri’s spirited greyhound. Cooper bounded up to her as soon as she stepped through the door, his tail wagging furiously.

“Hey, buddy!” Jimin crouched down to ruffle his fur, earning a happy bark. “Ready for a walk?”

Aeri leaned against the doorway, smirking. “You’re spoiling him, you know. He’ll never want to come back to me at this rate.”

“Can you blame him? I’m way more fun,” Jimin teased, clipping on Cooper's leash.

“Just don’t lose him,” Aeri called as Jimin and Cooper headed out.

The park was a short walk from Aeri’s place, a lush expanse of greenery dotted with families, joggers, and couples enjoying the crisp morning air. Cooper tugged at the leash, eager to explore. Jimin let him lead the way, her thoughts drifting.

As much as she loved her life, it often felt… predictable. Her days were filled with love and laughter, but there was a part of her that craved something more. She wanted to be the kind of person who could offer someone the same sense of warmth and security her family had always given her. She wanted someone to come home to, someone to share her quiet moments with, someone who would trust her to take care of them.

“Maybe I’m just a hopeless romantic,” she mused aloud, earning a curious tilt of Cooper’s head.

--

Later that afternoon, Jimin met up with her friends at their favorite café. The cozy space buzzed with chatter, the scent of freshly baked pastries mingling with the rich aroma of coffee. Minjeong was already seated, scrolling through her phone, while Yizhuo animatedly recounted a story to Aeri.

“You’re late,” Minjeong said without looking up as Jimin slid into the booth.

“Cooper wanted to inspect every single tree in the park,” Jimin replied, grinning.

“Sure he did,” Minjeong said dryly, but the corners of her mouth twitched in amusement.

“Speaking of dogs,” Aeri began, “have you guys noticed how much Jimin’s been sighing lately? Like a lovesick puppy?”

Jimin’s cheeks flushed. “I have not!”

“Oh, come on,” Yizhuo said, leaning forward with a mischievous grin. “You’ve got that faraway look in your eyes. Spill. Is there someone you’ve got your eye on?”

“No,” Jimin said firmly, but her friends weren’t convinced.

“You know,” Aeri said thoughtfully, “it’s okay to admit you’re looking for someone. We all know you’ve got that whole ‘caretaker’ thing going on. You’d be a great girlfriend.”

Jimin groaned. “Why do I even hang out with you guys?”

“Because you love us,” Yizhuo quipped.

Despite their teasing, Jimin knew they were right. She was looking for someone, even if she didn’t know who yet.

--

That night, Jimin sat on her bed, scrolling aimlessly through her phone. She paused on a photo from the park earlier that day—Cooper sniffing a patch of flowers, his grey fur glowing in the sunlight. It was such a simple moment, yet it had brought her so much joy.

“Maybe that’s all I’m missing,” she thought. “Someone to share the little moments with.”

She set her phone down and lay back, staring at the ceiling. Her life was full of love and laughter, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was someone out there who needed her just as much as she needed them.

And maybe, just maybe, she would find them.

With that thought, Jimin drifted off to sleep, her dreams filled with fleeting images of laughter, warmth, and a pair of eyes she hadn’t yet met but somehow already knew.

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

The morning air was crisp and fresh, carrying the faint scent of flowers blooming across the park. Jimin tugged at the leash in her hand, glancing down at the sleek Greyhound trotting alongside her. Cooper’s thin frame and long legs made him look almost regal, but his excitement for sniffing every patch of grass made Jimin chuckle.

"Cooper, can we stick to the path for once?" Jimin muttered, gently tugging the leash as the Greyhound veered toward another tree.

She’d agreed to take Aeri’s dog out for a walk, something she didn’t mind doing since it gave her an excuse to enjoy the peaceful weekend morning. The park was alive with activity—families on picnic blankets, joggers weaving through the paths, and couples strolling hand in hand.

Jimin barely noticed the lone figure sitting on the edge of the fountain, head bowed as if lost in thought. You had come to the park seeking a bit of calm amidst the chaos of adjusting to your new life. The sound of the fountain’s gentle splashes mixed with the distant chatter of park-goers, providing a soothing backdrop to your wandering thoughts.

Suddenly, a blur of movement snapped you out of your reverie. Before you could react, a Greyhound barreled toward you, its leash trailing behind it.

"Whoa!" you yelped as the dog jumped up, placing his paws on your lap and eagerly licking your face.

"Cooper!" a voice rang out, frantic and apologetic.

Despite the surprise, a laugh bubbled up from your chest. "Okay, okay! I get it, you’re excited!" you said, gently scratching the dog behind his ears.

Jimin sprinted toward you, her heart pounding from both exertion and embarrassment. She grabbed Cooper’s leash and tugged gently. "Cooper, af! Kom eraf!"

At her command, Cooper obediently stepped back, though his tail wagged with unbridled enthusiasm.

"I am so, so sorry!" Jimin blurted, her words spilling out in Dutch. "Hij doet dit normaal gesproken niet—uh, sorry! I mean... uh..."

She froze as soon as you looked up, her breath catching. Your laughter had already left her stunned, but now, meeting your gaze for the first time, Jimin felt her heart lurch. You were looking at her with a mix of amusement and curiosity, your eyes sparkling in a way that made her brain short-circuit.

Realizing she’d spoken Dutch, you blinked, scrambling to piece together the few words you recognized. "Sorry... I don’t speak Dutch," you said, your voice hesitant but kind.

Jimin’s face turned crimson. "Oh! Oh, right! English, sorry," she stammered, switching languages. "He doesn’t usually do this—I mean, he’s usually... better behaved?"

She winced at how clunky her words sounded, her usual confidence completely abandoning her under your gaze.

"It’s okay," you said, a smile tugging at your lips. You brushed some dog hair off your clothes. "He’s sweet. Maybe a little too enthusiastic, but sweet."

Jimin exhaled a laugh, relief washing over her. "Yeah, that’s Cooper for you. Always ready to make an impression."

You crouched slightly, giving the Greyhound one last pat. "Well, he succeeded. Is he yours?"

Jimin shook her head quickly, glad to have a straightforward question to answer. "No, he’s not mine. I’m just watching him for a friend. I’m Jimin, by the way."

You hesitated for a moment, unsure if you should introduce yourself. But there was something disarming about her—the way she seemed both nervous and sincere.

"Y/N," you said, standing and offering your hand.

Jimin hesitated before taking it, her touch warm and a little unsure. "Nice to meet you, Y/N. And I really am sorry about Cooper."

"Really, it’s fine," you replied, waving off her concern. "Honestly, I needed a distraction today. He’s adorable."

Jimin glanced at Cooper, who was now sitting obediently, his tail wagging lazily. "Adorable is one way to put it. He’s also a bit of a menace."

You laughed softly, and Jimin felt her chest tighten. The sound was so genuine, like a spark of light cutting through her nerves.

"So," Jimin began, shifting her weight awkwardly, "are you touring here?"

You tilted your head, the cliché making you grin. "Not really. I actually just moved a couple weeks ago, so I’m still figuring things out."

"Wow," Jimin said, genuinely impressed. "That’s a big change. How are you finding it so far?"

You shrugged, your gaze drifting toward the fountain. "It’s... an adjustment. Some days are harder than others."

Something in your tone made Jimin pause. She wanted to ask more, to know why your smile seemed tinged with something wistful. But instead, she nodded, her voice gentle. "I can imagine. If you ever need tips or recommendations, I’m kind of an expert. Born and raised here."

Your smile softened, and for the first time in weeks, you felt a little less like an outsider. "I might take you up on that."

“Well, I really feel like I owe you something for all this,” Jimin said, gesturing to Cooper, who wagged his tail innocently as if he weren’t the culprit of the chaos.

Y/N waved it off, awkwardly chuckling. “Really, it’s fine. No need to apologize.”

Jimin shook her head, determination shining in her eyes. “How about I buy you a coffee? My treat. I insist. That way we can start the tour”

Y/N hesitated, glancing down at her phone as if she could escape the situation. “You don’t have to—”

“I know I don’t have to,” Jimin interrupted gently, “but I want to. Please?”

Faced with Jimin’s earnest smile, Y/N found herself nodding despite her reservations. “Okay, sure.”

--

They walked together to a small café nearby, Cooper trotting beside them, now behaving like a model citizen. The atmosphere was a little awkward at first; Y/N wasn’t used to spontaneous social interactions, especially with strangers.

Jimin, sensing the tension, started to ramble. “So, do you live around here? Or were you just visiting the park?”

“I live close by,” Y/N replied, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I like to come here on weekends to unwind.”

“That’s nice. I come here pretty often too. Well, not usually with Cooper—that’s Aeri’s dog. She’s one of my best friends. She couldn’t walk him today, so here I am.”

Y/N nodded, her lips twitching into a small smile. “He’s sweet. A little intense, but sweet.”

Jimin grinned. “That’s a perfect description of him.”

By the time they reached the café, Jimin had managed to pull a few more details out of Y/N: she’s taking intensive dutch classes, worked a remote job, and didn’t know many people yet.

Inside the cozy café, they sat by a window with steaming cups of coffee in front of them. Cooper lay sprawled under the table, finally tired out.

Jimin shared funny stories about Cooper and her friends, while Y/N talked about her favorite hobbies and places she’d discovered so far.

Jimin found herself captivated by Y/N’s laughter. It wasn’t loud or boisterous, but it was genuine, and Jimin decided she wanted to hear it as often as possible.

By the time their cups were empty, Jimin didn’t want the moment to end. As they stepped out of the café, she took a deep breath.

“Can I—uh—get your number?” Jimin asked, scratching the back of her neck nervously. “You know, so I can let you know when Cooper’s planning his next ambush.”

Y/N laughed, the corners of her eyes crinkling. “Sure.”

They exchanged numbers, and Jimin couldn’t help the wide grin that spread across her face.

As they parted ways, Jimin did a little jump of happiness. Hearing a giggle, she looked back to see that Y/N was still there, looking at her. Blushing, she clumsily waved goodbye and walked Cooper back to Aeri’s place, her heart feeling lighter than it had in a long time.

Y/N watched her retreating figure, a faint smile lingering on her lips. It had been a long time since she felt this kind of warmth.

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

The weekend had been unusually lively for you, though not in the traditional sense. Your apartment remained your sanctuary, the world outside still too daunting to face for long. Yet, your phone buzzed more frequently than it had in months, each notification bringing a smile to your face.

Jimin: "Do you think Cooper knows he’s a Greyhound, or does he just think he’s a really fast human?" You snorted at the absurdity of her question, shaking your head as you replied.

You: "Fast human, 100%. With questionable manners."

Jimin: "Hey, Cooper has AMAZING manners! He only licked your face because he sensed you’re nice." Jimin: "…Or maybe he just thought you smelled good. Either way, he’s the goodest boy!"

Her messages were a mix of humor and sweetness, each one pulling you further out of the fog that had settled over your mind since you’d arrived in this new country. It was strange how quickly Jimin had become a presence in your life. Her texts were the highlight of your days, her playful energy a stark contrast to the loneliness you often felt.

You spent most of Saturday exchanging messages with her, laughing at her jokes and learning more about her life. She told you about Cooper’s quirks, her friends’ antics, and her favorite spots in the city. It was easy, effortless even, and you found yourself wishing you could hold onto this feeling a little longer.

Sunday morning was no different. Jimin sent you a picture of Cooper lounging on her couch, his long legs sprawled awkwardly.

Jimin: "Look at this absolute model. He’s posing for Vogue, clearly." You: "GQ, maybe. He’s got the ‘brooding male lead’ look down."

Your laughter filled the quiet apartment, a sound that had been absent for far too long. But just as you were settling into the comfort of this new routine, your phone buzzed again, and your heart sank.

Mom.

The name on the screen felt heavier than it should have, and for a moment, you considered letting it go to voicemail. But the guilt crept in quickly, as it always did, and you sighed, swiping to answer.

“Hello?” you said, keeping your tone neutral.

“Y/N,” your mom’s voice came through, sharp and impatient. “Finally. Do you ever check your phone? I’ve been calling all weekend!”

You closed your eyes, already bracing yourself for the familiar cycle. “I’ve been busy, Mom,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “Just trying to get things done.”

“Busy?” she scoffed. “Too busy to call your own mother? You have time to move halfway across the world but not to pick up the phone?”

Her words stung, as they always did, but you forced yourself to stay calm. “I’m not ignoring you,” you said carefully. “I just needed some time for myself.”

“Time for yourself,” she repeated, her tone dripping with disdain. “And what about your family, Y/N? What about me? Do you ever think about how hard it is for me to keep everything together without you?”

Your chest tightened, the familiar guilt settling in like an old friend. “Mom, I didn’t leave to hurt you. I just needed space to figure things out.”

“Space,” she said bitterly. “From your own family? From the mother who’s done everything for you? Do you even care about us anymore?”

Her words felt like a punch to the gut, but you bit your tongue, refusing to let the frustration spill out. “I do care,” you said softly. “I just—”

“Forget it,” she snapped, cutting you off. “You clearly don’t have time for me. I’ll let you get back to your oh-so-busy life.”

The line went dead before you could respond. You stared at the phone in your hand, the silence in the room now deafening. You knew you hadn’t done anything wrong, but the weight of her words pressed down on you all the same.

You tried to shake off the heaviness, but it clung to you like a shadow. Desperate for a distraction, you opened your chat with Jimin, your fingers hovering over the keyboard.

You: "Are you free for a call?"

Her reply came almost instantly.

Jimin: "Always! Give me 5 mins to grab headphones."

You smiled faintly at her eagerness, even as your chest still felt tight. A few moments later, your phone buzzed with an incoming call. You hesitated for a second before answering.

“Hey,” Jimin’s voice was bright and cheerful, a stark contrast to your mood.

“Hi,” you said softly, your voice quieter than usual.

There was a pause on the other end, and you could almost feel her concern. “Are you okay?” she asked gently.

You hesitated, not ready to unpack the storm of emotions swirling inside you. “I don’t really want to talk about it,” you admitted.

Jimin didn’t press, her voice lightening instead. “That’s okay. Want me to tell you about how Cooper tried to steal my breakfast this morning?”

A small smile tugged at your lips. “Yeah. Tell me everything.”

And just like that, Jimin launched into a dramatic retelling of her morning, complete with exaggerated impressions of Cooper’s antics. Her voice was animated, full of warmth and humor, and it didn’t take long for her stories to pull you out of your head.

“I swear, if he had opposable thumbs, he’d be unstoppable,” Jimin said, finishing her tale of how Cooper managed to knock her cereal bowl off the counter.

You laughed, the sound feeling almost foreign after the weight of the day. “Maybe you should hire him as a food critic. He’s clearly got opinions.”

Jimin gasped theatrically. “Brilliant idea. I’ll start his blog tomorrow: Cooper’s Culinary Adventures.”

The conversation shifted to lighter topics—your favorite foods, her favorite spots in the city, and a heated debate about whether pineapple belonged on pizza (Jimin was adamantly against it, to your amusement).

As the hours slipped by, you found yourself relaxing more and more, the tightness in your chest easing with each passing moment.

“Thanks for this,” you said quietly, interrupting her mid-sentence.

“For what?” Jimin asked, her voice genuinely puzzled.

“For... just being here,” you admitted. “I didn’t realize how much I needed this.”

Her voice softened. “Hey, anytime. Really. I like talking to you.”

Your heart warmed at her sincerity, and for the first time that day, the weight of your mom’s words didn’t feel so crushing.

The call stretched late into the night, neither of you wanting to hang up. Jimin’s laughter filled the empty corners of your apartment, her warmth seeping through the phone and wrapping around you like a comforting blanket.

By the time you finally said goodnight, the heaviness in your chest had lifted

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

The scent of spices and sizzling food filled the air as you approached Jimin’s apartment. Your stomach churned—not from hunger, but from nerves. Meeting Jimin’s friends felt like stepping into uncharted territory. You weren’t sure if you were ready for this yet, but Jimin had insisted.

“They’re going to love you,” she’d said, her voice warm and confident over the phone.

You adjusted your grip on the small bouquet of flowers you’d brought—a gesture you hoped would make a good first impression. Maybe this would be okay.

When the door swung open, Jimin stood there, dressed in a simple yet effortlessly stylish sweater and jeans. Her warm smile eased some of your tension immediately. “Hey, you made it!” she said, stepping aside to let you in.

Her apartment was cozy, with string lights lining the walls and the faint hum of music playing in the background. The voices of her friends carried from the kitchen, punctuated by bursts of laughter.

“You didn’t have to bring flowers,” Jimin said, taking the bouquet from your hands. “But they’re so pretty. Thank you!”

“I just thought it’d be nice,” you replied, your voice quiet but steady.

Jimin placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. “Seriously, they’re going to love you. Promise.”

You nodded, though the knot of anxiety in your stomach remained as you followed her deeper into the apartment.

As you entered the kitchen, three people were clustered around a counter piled high with food. Their laughter faded as Jimin announced your arrival.

“Guys, this is Y/N,” she said, her tone bright and cheerful.

Three pairs of eyes turned toward you. For a split second, you wanted to retreat, but their faces broke into warm smiles that made you feel a little less out of place.

“Finally!” said a tall girl with sharp features and an easy grin. “Jimin’s been talking about you nonstop. I’m Aeri, by the way.”

“Minjeong,” another introduced herself, shorter with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “Nice to meet the person who’s been monopolizing Jimin’s attention lately.”

“Don’t mind them,” the last one said, her tone playful. She was bubbly and energetic, her bright smile instantly infectious. “I’m Yizhuo. And I promise we’re not that scary. Just a little.”

You smiled shyly, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. “It’s nice to meet you all,” you said, clutching the strap of your bag tightly.

“Come on, sit down,” Aeri said, gesturing to the table. “Jimin’s been cooking all day. She refuses to let us help, so if it’s bad, we’re blaming her.”

“Excuse me!” Jimin interjected, hands on her hips. “You’re the one who burned the rice the last time we let you cook.”

The banter flew back and forth easily, the teasing and laughter filling the room with a warmth that started to chip away at your nerves.

The table was laden with dishes—steaming bowls of pasta, fresh salad, and crispy garlic bread. As you took a seat, you noticed the effort Jimin had put into making everything perfect.

“This looks amazing,” you said, glancing at her.

She grinned. “Thanks. Cooking is kind of my thing.”

As everyone dug in, the conversation flowed effortlessly. They teased Jimin mercilessly, recounting stories that had you laughing despite yourself.

“Did she tell you about the time she fell into the canal trying to impress someone?” Minjeong asked, her grin wicked.

“Hey!” Jimin protested, her cheeks flushing. “That was years ago!”

“And yet, here we are,” Aeri said, smirking.

“She never learns,” Yizhuo added. “The other day, she tripped over Cooper’s leash and spilled coffee all over herself.”

“That wasn’t my fault! Cooper’s deceptively strong!” Jimin defended, throwing a napkin at Yizhuo.

“So, Y/N,” Aeri said, leaning forward with a curious grin, “what’s your deal? How’d you end up stuck with Jimin?”

You hesitated, but their faces were open and inviting. “We met at the park,” you said, glancing at Jimin. “Your dog kind of ambushed me.”

Classic Cooper,” Minjeong said, shaking her head with mock exasperation.

“Sounds about right,” Yizhuo agreed. “But hey, at least something good came out of it.”

You smiled, feeling a little more comfortable as the conversation turned to lighter topics—favorite movies, travel destinations, and the best local restaurants.

At one point, Yizhuo turned to you with a mischievous grin. “So, Jimin’s been on her best behavior, right? No embarrassing serenades or awkward pickup lines?”

“Yizhuo!” Jimin groaned, burying her face in her hands.

You laughed softly. “She’s been great. No serenades yet.”

“Key word: yet,” Minjeong teased, earning another napkin thrown her way.

As the night went on, you felt the weight of your anxiety begin to lift. Jimin’s friends had a way of making you feel like you belonged, their easy camaraderie wrapping around you like a warm blanket.

By the time the plates were cleared and everyone settled into a more relaxed conversation, you found yourself leaning back in your chair, feeling a sense of comfort you hadn’t felt in a long time.

“So,” Aeri said, raising her glass with a teasing grin, “if Jimin ever messes this up, just know we’re all here to steal you for ourselves. No pressure, Jimin.”

Jimin groaned dramatically. “Can you guys not scare her away?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound light and genuine. “I think I’ll stick around for now,” you said, glancing at Jimin with a soft smile.

Her eyes met yours, and for a moment, the room seemed to fade away.

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

The evening sun cast a golden glow over the city as you and Jimin strolled through a quiet street, the rhythmic hum of bicycles filling the air. The two of you had spent the day wandering through local shops, sharing little anecdotes and indulging in pastries from a nearby bakery. With every moment, you felt a little lighter, your laughter coming more easily around her.

“You have powdered sugar on your face,” Jimin said, pointing at the corner of your mouth with a teasing smile.

“Where?” you asked, swiping at your cheek.

Jimin shook her head, chuckling. “No, not there. Here—” She reached out, her thumb brushing gently against your skin. The touch was brief but enough to make your cheeks warm.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, looking away to hide your flustered expression.

Jimin’s grin widened, but she didn’t tease you further. “I’m just saying, it’s a sign you enjoyed the pastry.”

“Maybe I did,” you replied, your voice softer now.

The two of you continued walking, the atmosphere comfortable and filled with the kind of quiet contentment that didn’t need words. But as you reached a small bench by the canal, your phone buzzed in your pocket, pulling you out of the moment.

You hesitated before pulling it out. The screen lit up with a name that made your heart sink: Mom. For a moment, you considered letting it go to voicemail. But the guilt that always lingered when you ignored her calls was too heavy to bear.

“Sorry, I have to take this,” you said, stepping away from Jimin.

Her brow furrowed slightly, but she nodded. “Take your time.”

You walked a few paces away, answering the call with a tentative, “Hello?”

Your mom’s voice came through, sharp and insistent. “Y/N, finally. I’ve been calling all day. Why haven’t you answered?”

“I’ve been busy,” you said, keeping your tone as neutral as possible.

“Busy? What could you possibly be doing that’s more important than answering your mother?” she demanded, her voice rising slightly.

You sighed, already feeling the familiar weight settle over your chest. “I’m just out right now. I can’t talk long.”

“Out? With who? Are you making bad decisions again?” she asked, the accusation in her tone cutting deep.

“No, Mom,” you said firmly, trying to keep your composure. “I’m just with a friend.”

Your mom’s tone softened slightly, but the edge remained. “You’re always so distant these days. I don’t understand why you can’t make more time for your family. Do you even care about us anymore?”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. “Of course I care,” you said, your voice quieter now. “But I’m trying to build my own life here. I need space.”

“Space?” she repeated, her voice dripping with disbelief. “You’ve had all the space in the world since you left. But do you even think about how hard this has been for us? For me?”

You closed your eyes, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Mom, I—”

“No, Y/N. You don’t understand. You’ve abandoned us, and now you’re too busy to even talk? What kind of daughter does that?”

Her words, laced with guilt and frustration, made your grip on the phone tighten. “I’m trying my best,” you said, your voice breaking slightly.

“Clearly, your best isn’t enough,” she said sharply before the line went dead.

You stared at your phone, the screen dimming as the call ended. The knot in your stomach tightened, and the guilt clawed at you, even though you knew you hadn’t done anything wrong.

You turned back toward Jimin, who was watching you with concern. She stood as you approached, her expression soft.

“Everything okay?” she asked gently.

You tried to nod, but the lump in your throat made it impossible to speak. Instead, you sat on the bench, staring at the ground.

Jimin hesitated for a moment before sitting beside you. She didn’t press you for details, but her presence was steady and comforting.

You forced a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Yeah, it’s fine.”

Jimin studied you for a moment, her gaze searching. “You sure?”

You hesitated, then nodded quickly. “I just don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay,” she said softly, her tone understanding. She didn’t push, didn’t pry, and you were grateful for it.

imin didn’t look away, though, her presence steady and grounding.

After a while, she broke the quiet. “You know, if Cooper were here, he’d probably be trying to sit on your lap right now. All 30 kilograms of him.”

You couldn’t help but let out a small laugh. “Yeah? Sounds like a handful.”

Jimin grinned, the corners of her eyes crinkling. “He is. But he’s also a giant baby. Last week, he tried to hide behind me because he saw a pigeon.”

“A pigeon?” you repeated, laughter bubbling up despite the heaviness in your chest.

Jimin’s smile faltered, her tone turning sheepish. “Okay, so... I might’ve been a little scared, too.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Wait, are you telling me you’re afraid of pigeons?”

Jimin groaned, burying her face in her hands. “It’s not a fear! It’s just... they’re unpredictable, okay? They move too fast, and they’re always staring at you like they know your secrets.”

You burst out laughing, the sound startling even yourself. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Well, I’m glad my suffering amuses you,” Jimin said with a mock pout, though the sparkle in her eyes betrayed her teasing.

“Seriously, though,” you said, your laughter subsiding into a grin, “a Greyhound and a grown woman scared of a pigeon? That’s a story for the ages.”

“Hey, don’t knock it until you’ve been on the receiving end of a pigeon’s wrath,” Jimin said, crossing her arms in mock indignation.

Her animated expressions and playful tone pulled you further away from the storm of emotions left by the call. The ache in your chest didn’t disappear, but it dulled under the warmth of Jimin’s company.

“Thank you,” you said suddenly, your voice quiet but sincere.

Jimin looked at you, her brows lifting in surprise. “For what?”

“For just... being here,” you said, meeting her gaze briefly before looking away.

A soft smile spread across her face. “Always.”

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of lighthearted conversation and quiet companionship. Jimin didn’t push you to share more, didn’t try to fix what she couldn’t understand. Instead, she simply stayed by your side, her presence a steady reassurance that you didn’t have to face everything alone.

And for now, that was enough.

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

The café was bustling with life, the hum of conversation mixing with the clatter of coffee cups and the hiss of the espresso machine. You and Jimin had claimed a small table by the window, the sunlight streaming in and casting a warm glow on her features.

As always, Jimin had a way of making you feel at ease, her laughter contagious and her stories brimming with energy. But today, your mind was elsewhere, pulled into a spiral you couldn’t seem to escape.

It started when a girl had walked up to your table—a tall, confident woman with a dazzling smile. She greeted Jimin with an ease that spoke of familiarity, her tone playful as they exchanged a few quick jokes. You tried to focus on your coffee, pretending the interaction didn’t bother you, but the way Jimin’s face lit up as they talked sent a pang of unease through your chest.

The woman left as quickly as she’d arrived, waving goodbye to Jimin with a wink. Jimin returned to your conversation seamlessly, completely unaware of the way your heart was now hammering in your chest.

You told yourself it didn’t matter. Jimin wasn’t yours; you weren’t dating. She was just being her naturally kind and warm self. But the thought didn’t stop the flood of doubts that followed.

Why would someone like Jimin ever want someone like you?

You stirred your coffee absentmindedly, your gaze fixed on the swirling liquid. Jimin’s voice cut through your thoughts.

“Y/N?”

You looked up, startled to find her watching you with concern.

“Everything okay? You’ve been quiet.”

You forced a smile, hoping it looked convincing. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just tired.”

Jimin didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t press further. Instead, she launched into a story about her friend’s latest antics, her animated gestures drawing a small, genuine laugh from you.

But even as you smiled, the doubts lingered.

--

You lay in bed, staring at the ceiling as your thoughts raced. Images of Jimin laughing with that woman played on a loop in your mind, each one twisting the knife of insecurity a little deeper.

You reminded yourself again that Jimin wasn’t yours. She had every right to talk to whoever she wanted. But no matter how much you reasoned with yourself, the feelings wouldn’t go away.

It wasn’t just jealousy—it was something deeper, more insidious. A voice in your head whispered that you weren’t good enough for someone like Jimin. That she deserved someone brighter, someone more put together, someone who didn’t carry the baggage you did.

By the time morning came, the weight of those thoughts felt unbearable.

--

Jimin noticed immediately when you met up that afternoon. She always noticed.

“You’re quiet again,” she said, tilting her head as the two of you walked along the canal. “Are you sure everything’s okay?”

You nodded quickly, avoiding her gaze. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

But Jimin stopped walking, her hand gently catching your arm to stop you too.

“Y/N,” she said softly, her eyes searching yours. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”

You hesitated, your first instinct to deflect. But the concern in her eyes made it impossible to lie.

“It’s nothing, really,” you said, your voice shaky. “I’m just... in my head, I guess.”

Jimin didn’t let go of your arm. “In your head about what?”

You looked away, your gaze fixed on the water. “I just... I feel like I don’t measure up sometimes. Like I’m not... enough.”

The words felt heavy as they left your mouth, and you braced yourself for her reaction.

But Jimin didn’t look at you with pity or disbelief. She looked at you with so much care it almost hurt.

“Why would you think that?” she asked gently.

You shrugged, still unable to meet her gaze. “Because it’s true. I mean, look at you—you’re amazing, Jimin. You’re kind and beautiful and confident. You could have anyone you wanted. Why would you ever...”

You trailed off, unable to finish the thought.

Jimin stepped closer, her hand moving from your arm to your hand. Her touch was steady, grounding.

“Hey,” she said, her voice firm but kind. “Don’t do that. Don’t compare yourself to anyone else. You’re amazing too, Y/N.”

You shook your head, your throat tightening. “You don’t understand. I’m a mess, Jimin. I’ve got so much baggage, and I’m not... I’m not like you.”

Jimin squeezed your hand, her grip warm and reassuring. “You’re right—you’re not like me. And that’s a good thing. I don’t want you to be like me, Y/N. I want you to be you.”

Her words made your chest tighten, the sincerity in her voice breaking through the wall you’d built around yourself.

“But what if me isn’t enough?” you whispered, the question breaking your voice.

Jimin stepped closer, her other hand coming up to gently rest on your shoulder. “Y/N, you are more than enough. You’re kind, and funny, and smart. You make people feel seen and heard. You make me feel... happy. Really happy.”

You blinked, her words sinking in slowly. “I do?”

Jimin nodded, her eyes never leaving yours. “You do. Every time I see you, every time we talk, I feel like my day gets brighter. You don’t have to be anyone else or do anything special—you just have to be you. That’s enough for me.”

The lump in your throat grew, but this time it wasn’t from sadness. It was from the overwhelming warmth of Jimin’s words.

“Thank you,” you said softly, your voice trembling.

Jimin smiled, her hands giving yours a reassuring squeeze. “You don’t have to thank me. I just want you to see yourself the way I see you.”

For the first time in what felt like days, the weight on your chest began to lift. Jimin’s words didn’t erase your insecurities completely, but they made them feel smaller, more manageable.

“Can we... just keep walking for a bit?” you asked, needing a moment to process everything.

“Of course,” Jimin said, her smile gentle. She let go of your hand, but only to fall into step beside you, her presence steady and comforting.

As you walked together, the canal glinting in the afternoon sun, you realized something important: Jimin saw you—truly saw you—and she didn’t run away.

Maybe, just maybe, you could start seeing yourself the way she did.

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

Jimin had texted you the day after the call that had left you shaken. Her message was simple:

“I was thinking... maybe we could hang out this weekend? Just you and me? Nothing too fancy, just... a date?”

Your heart had skipped a beat at the word "date." It was the first time she’d said it outright, and though the thought filled you with nervous excitement, you agreed.

So now you stood in your apartment, nervously smoothing down your outfit, when a knock sounded at the door. You opened it to find Jimin standing there, a shy smile on her face—and a small bouquet of tulips in her hands.

“These are for you,” she said, her voice a little sheepish as she held them out.

Your eyes widened in surprise. “You brought me flowers?”

Jimin shrugged, her cheeks flushing. “I figured... I don’t know, I thought you might like them.”

A soft laugh escaped you as you took the bouquet, the vibrant petals a burst of color against the duller tones of your thoughts. “I do. Thank you, Jimin. They’re beautiful.”

Jimin’s smile grew, and she glanced down at her shoes. “I’m glad you like them.”

You invited her in, setting the flowers in a vase with water before grabbing your coat. “So, what’s the plan for this date?”

Jimin’s grin turned playful as she said, “You’ll see.”

The surprise didn’t last long, though. Instead of a bustling restaurant or a noisy café, Jimin led you to her apartment. The choice made your heart settle—it was thoughtful, quiet, and personal, exactly what you needed.

Her place was cozy and inviting, with soft lighting and a faint scent of vanilla. The living room was small but thoughtfully decorated, filled with plants and little knick-knacks that spoke to Jimin’s personality. A blanket was draped over the couch, and the coffee table was set with snacks, two glasses, and a bottle of wine.

“I figured we could keep it simple,” Jimin said as she slipped off her shoes. “Movies, snacks, maybe a little wine? No pressure, though—just whatever feels comfortable.”

“Perfect,” you said, meaning it. After the emotional turmoil of the past week, this kind of quiet, personal setting was exactly what you needed.

You settled on the couch, and Jimin joined you, a movie queued up but forgotten as the two of you started talking. Jimin had a way of making you feel at ease, her energy infectious and her laughter like a warm hug.

Hours passed without you even realizing it, the two of you sharing stories, teasing each other, and laughing until your sides hurt. But as the evening wore on, the warmth of the moment began to stir something deeper within you—a longing to share the parts of yourself you usually kept hidden.

Jimin must have sensed the shift because she turned to you, her smile softening. “You okay? You’ve gone quiet.”

You hesitated, your fingers picking at the edge of the blanket draped over your lap. “I’m okay... I think.”

Jimin didn’t push. She just waited, her presence steady and reassuring, giving you the space to find your words.

Taking a deep breath, you began. “I haven’t told you much about my past... about why I moved here.”

Jimin’s expression grew serious, her gaze never leaving yours. “You don’t have to if you’re not ready,” she said gently.

“I want to,” you said, surprising yourself with how certain you felt. “I think... I need to.”

Jimin nodded, her body angled toward you as if to shield you from the rest of the world.

“It’s my mom,” you started, your voice barely above a whisper. “She’s... she’s always been hard on me. Critical, demanding, never satisfied. Nothing I ever did was enough for her. And when I told her I was leaving, that I needed space, she made me feel like I was the worst person in the world for even thinking about it.”

Your hands trembled as you spoke, and Jimin reached out, her hand warm and steady on yours.

“She’d call me selfish, ungrateful,” you continued, your voice breaking. “She’d guilt me, make me feel like I owed her everything. And even now, when I’m here, she still calls and texts constantly, like she can’t let me go. And I...” You paused, swallowing hard. “I know I did the right thing by leaving, but I can’t stop feeling guilty. Like I failed her.”

Tears welled in your eyes, and you blinked them away, but they fell anyway. “And it’s not just her. It’s... it’s everything. She’s in my head, telling me I’m not good enough, that I’ll never be good enough. And no matter how much I try to drown it out, it’s always there.”

Jimin’s thumb brushed over your knuckles, her touch grounding you. “Y/N,” she said softly, her voice filled with emotion. “I’m so sorry you’ve been carrying this. You didn’t deserve it—not then, not now.”

Her words broke something in you, and the tears came harder, spilling down your cheeks in a torrent of emotion you couldn’t hold back. Jimin didn’t say anything more; she just pulled you into her arms, holding you tightly as you cried into her shoulder.

For the first time in a long time, you felt safe.

When the tears subsided, you pulled back, your face warm with embarrassment. “Sorry,” you mumbled, wiping at your cheeks.

“Don’t be,” Jimin said, her voice firm. “Never apologize for feeling what you feel.”

You nodded, your throat tight. “I just... I want to feel loved, Jimin. Really loved. Not judged or criticized or made to feel small. I want to feel... safe. And cared for. Is that too much to ask?”

Jimin’s hands cupped your face, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “Y/N, you deserve all of that and more. You deserve to be loved, to feel safe, to be cared for in every way. And I want to be the one to give that to you.”

Your breath hitched, your heart pounding in your chest. “Jimin...”

“I mean it,” she said, her voice trembling with sincerity. “I know it won’t be easy, and I know you’ve been hurt. But I promise you, I’ll be patient. I’ll prove to you every day that you’re worth loving, that you’re more than enough just as you are. You don’t have to do anything or be anything for me—you just have to be you. That’s all I need.”

Tears filled your eyes again, but this time they weren’t from pain. They were from the overwhelming warmth of her words, the kindness and love she poured into them.

“Why would you want to do that for me?” you asked, your voice barely audible.

Jimin smiled, her thumbs brushing away your tears. “Because you’re worth it. Because you’ve already made my world brighter just by being in it. And because... I think I’m falling for you.”

Her confession took your breath away, the weight of it settling in your chest like a warm glow.

Jimin took a deep breath, her hands still holding your face. “Y/N, will you be my girlfriend?”

Your heart swelled, a mix of fear and joy swirling inside you. But as you looked into her eyes, you saw nothing but sincerity and warmth.

“Yes,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “Yes, I will.”

A radiant smile spread across Jimin’s face, and before you could process what was happening, she leaned in, her lips brushing against yours.

The kiss was soft and gentle, a promise in itself. It felt like the walls you’d built around yourself were finally crumbling, replaced by the warmth and safety of Jimin’s embrace.

When she pulled back, her forehead rested against yours, her eyes closed as she whispered, “You’re safe with me, Y/N. Always.”

And for the first time in a long time, you believed it.

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

Life with Jimin was a series of small, joyful steps forward.

In the weeks following your first official date, the two of you settled into a rhythm. Weekends became sacred—a time for just the two of you. One weekend, you introduced Jimin to your favorite books, curling up on her couch as you read aloud together. Another, she taught you to make her grandmother’s favorite dumpling recipe, both of you laughing as you fumbled with the dough.

“You’re better at this than I thought,” Jimin teased, nudging you with her elbow as you successfully folded another dumpling.

“Natural talent,” you joked, feeling lighter than you had in years.

It wasn’t just weekends, though. Jimin had a way of weaving herself into your daily life in the most unexpected ways—sending you silly selfies in the middle of her workday, texting you goodnight every evening without fail, and making you laugh with her ridiculous dad jokes.

And you found yourself wanting to do the same for her. You started surprising her with little things—a playlist of songs you thought she’d like, a sketch of her dog that made her beam with delight, or simply a thoughtful text to brighten her day.

It was new, unfamiliar, but also wonderful. For the first time in a long time, you felt loved, cared for, and seen.

But as you were beginning to build something beautiful with Jimin, the shadows of your past refused to stay quiet.

It was a quiet Tuesday evening when your phone rang, the name on the screen freezing the smile on your face.

Mom.

You hesitated, your thumb hovering over the screen. But the part of you that still craved her approval won out, and you answered.

“Hi, Mom,” you said softly, your voice tinged with trepidation.

Her tone was sharp from the start. “So, you’re too busy to call your mother these days?”

You closed your eyes, the weight of her words settling on your chest. “I’ve been busy with work and... things. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t cut it,” she snapped. “Do you even care about how I feel? Or is this just about you, as always?”

The accusations came quickly, each one sharper than the last. No matter how much you tried to defend yourself, to explain, she wouldn’t hear it.

“I gave you everything,” she said, her voice breaking into a sob. “And this is how you repay me? By running away, by abandoning me? You’re worthless. Selfish and worthless.”

Her words sliced through you, reopening old wounds you thought were healing. You managed to stammer out a weak “I have to go,” before hanging up, your hands trembling as you dropped the phone onto the table.

You tried to breathe, but your chest felt tight, each inhale jagged and shallow. The room seemed to close in around you, the weight of her words pressing down until you couldn’t think, couldn’t move.

Your phone buzzed on the table, but you didn’t look at it. You couldn’t.

--

Jimin frowned as she stared at her phone, her latest message to you still unread. She’d been texting you for over an hour with no response, and something about it didn’t sit right.

Normally, you’d at least send a quick reply, even if you were busy. But tonight... nothing.

She grabbed her coat, worry gnawing at her as she headed to your apartment.

When she arrived, she knocked on the door, but there was no answer. Her worry deepened.

“Y/N? It’s me,” she called out, her voice gentle but firm. “I’m coming in, okay?”

Using the spare key you’d given her just last week, she unlocked the door and stepped inside.

The sight that greeted her broke her heart.

You were sitting on the floor, your back against the couch, your knees drawn up to your chest. Your hands were clutching your head, and your breaths came in shallow, rapid gasps. Tears streaked your face, and your whole body trembled.

“Y/N,” Jimin said softly, dropping to her knees beside you.

Your eyes darted to her, wide and filled with panic, but you didn’t speak.

“It’s okay,” she said, her voice calm and soothing. “I’m here. You’re safe.”

She sat down beside you, close but not crowding, her presence steady and grounding. “Can you try to breathe with me?” she asked gently, demonstrating slow, deep breaths. “In for four, out for four. Just like that.”

You tried to match her breaths, but your chest felt too tight, the panic refusing to release its grip.

“It’s okay if it’s hard,” Jimin said, her voice unwavering. “Just keep trying. I’m not going anywhere.”

Her words were a lifeline, pulling you back, little by little, from the edge. After what felt like an eternity, your breaths began to slow, the tightness in your chest easing.

Jimin reached out, her hand hovering uncertainly before settling on your arm. “You’re doing so well,” she said softly.

The warmth of her touch grounded you further, and the tears started again, but this time they weren’t from panic. They were from exhaustion, from relief, from the overwhelming mix of emotions you couldn’t untangle.

Jimin didn’t speak; she just held you, her arms around you like a shield against the world.

When the tears subsided, you finally found your voice, though it was barely a whisper. “She called me worthless.”

Jimin stiffened slightly, but her embrace didn’t falter. “She’s wrong,” she said firmly, her voice filled with conviction. “You are not worthless, Y/N. Not even close.”

You shook your head, the weight of her words still pressing down on you. “It feels like I am. Like no matter what I do, it’s never enough.”

Jimin pulled back just enough to look at you, her hands cupping your face. “Listen to me,” she said, her tone steady and unyielding. “You are enough. More than enough. Your mom... she doesn’t see it, but that doesn’t mean it’s true. You are kind, thoughtful, strong, and resilient. And anyone who can’t see that doesn’t deserve to have a say in how you see yourself.”

Her words pierced through the fog of doubt and pain, reaching a part of you that still believed in the possibility of hope.

“I don’t know how to stop feeling like this,” you admitted, your voice trembling.

“You don’t have to figure it out alone,” Jimin said. “We’ll figure it out together. One step at a time, okay? You’re not alone in this, Y/N. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Her unwavering support, her presence, it was more than you’d ever dared to hope for.

For the first time that night, you allowed yourself to lean into her, to let her hold you, to let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, you weren’t as broken as you felt.

And as Jimin whispered words of comfort and love, you felt a glimmer of something you hadn’t felt in years.

Hope.

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

For the first time in what felt like forever, you stood at the edge of your past, ready to confront it.

The past few weeks with Jimin had been a revelation. She had shown you love and care in ways you hadn’t thought possible. With her, you felt safe enough to begin unraveling the tangled mess of your emotions and experiences.

But there was one thing you hadn’t yet faced: your mother.

Every time she called, you felt the same pull—the ache of wanting her approval mixed with the dread of her inevitable criticism. But you couldn’t live like this anymore. You couldn’t move forward with the weight of her words dragging you down.

And so, on a crisp Saturday afternoon, you decided it was time.

Jimin was by your side as always, sitting with you on the couch. Her presence was steady and reassuring, her hand warm in yours.

“Are you ready?” she asked softly, her dark eyes searching yours for any sign of doubt.

“No,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “But I need to do this.”

Jimin squeezed your hand. “You’re stronger than you think, Y/N. I’m right here, okay?”

You nodded, drawing strength from her unwavering support. With a deep breath, you picked up your phone and dialed.

It didn’t take long for your mom to answer. “Finally,” she said, her tone sharp. “I was starting to think you’d forgotten you had a mother.”

You closed your eyes, steadying yourself. “Hi, Mom. I wanted to talk.”

The words came out calmer than you expected, but your heart was racing.

“Oh? You have time for me now?” she said, her voice dripping with bitterness. “How kind of you.”

You fought the urge to apologize, knowing it would only validate her behavior. “I need to say some things,” you said instead, your voice firmer now.

“Say what?” she demanded. “How ungrateful you’ve been? How you’ve abandoned me?”

Jimin’s hand tightened around yours, grounding you as you pressed on. “No, Mom. I want to talk about how I feel. About how your words have affected me.”

Your mom scoffed. “Oh, here we go. Playing the victim now, are we?”

You clenched your free hand into a fist, forcing yourself to stay calm. “I’m not trying to play the victim. I just need you to understand that the way you’ve treated me—calling me worthless, criticizing everything I do—it’s hurt me. It’s made me feel like I’ll never be good enough.”

There was a beat of silence, and for a moment, you thought she might actually listen. But then she spoke, her voice trembling with indignation. “After everything I’ve done for you? I sacrificed so much, and this is the thanks I get? You’re so ungrateful.”

The guilt hit you like a wave, but Jimin’s gentle touch on your hand kept you steady. She leaned closer, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles, her silent reminder that you weren’t alone.

“I’m not ungrateful,” you said, your voice breaking slightly. “I know you’ve done a lot for me. And I love you, Mom. I always will. But I don’t like the way you treat me. I don’t like how I feel when we talk.”

“How you feel?” she snapped. “What about how I feel? Do you even care?”

Tears pricked your eyes, but you refused to back down. “I do care, Mom. That’s why I’m saying this. But I can’t keep sacrificing my happiness just to make you feel better. I need space. I need time to heal.”

“Space?” she repeated, her voice rising. “You’re abandoning me again. Just like you always do.”

“I’m not abandoning you,” you said firmly, though your hands trembled. “I’m asking for space. I’m asking you to respect my boundaries. I can’t keep living like this. It’s not fair to me.”

Her voice cracked. “You don’t know what you’re saying. You’ll regret this.”

Maybe you would, but you also knew you couldn’t go back to how things were. “I’m sorry if this hurts you, Mom. But I have to put myself first for once.”

There was a long silence on the other end of the line. Finally, she spoke, her tone cold and distant. “Fine. Do whatever you want. Just don’t come crying to me when it all falls apart.”

The call ended abruptly, and for a moment, you stared at the phone in your hand, the silence ringing louder than her words.

Tears blurred your vision, but Jimin’s arms were around you before you could fall apart completely.

“You did it,” she murmured, her voice soft and full of pride.

“It doesn’t feel like it,” you said, your voice trembling. “It feels like I’ve just lost everything.”

“You haven’t lost everything,” she said gently, pulling back to look at you. “You’ve just taken the first step toward finding yourself again. And I’m so proud of you.”

Her words broke the dam inside you, and you leaned into her, crying into her shoulder as she held you. She didn’t try to fix it, didn’t tell you to stop crying. She just held you, letting you feel everything you needed to feel.

When the tears finally subsided, you sat together in silence, Jimin’s fingers tracing soothing patterns on your back.

“I feel so... empty,” you admitted.

“That’s okay,” she said. “Sometimes you have to let go of what’s hurting you to make room for something better. And I promise, Y/N, there’s so much better waiting for you.”

Her words stayed with you as the days passed. Slowly but surely, you began to feel lighter. The guilt and pain didn’t disappear overnight, but they began to fade, replaced by something new.

Hope.

--

One sunny afternoon, you and Jimin took Cooper for a walk in the park. The greyhound trotted happily ahead, his tail wagging as he sniffed every blade of grass.

The park was alive with the sounds of laughter and birdsong, the crisp autumn air filled with the scent of fallen leaves.

Jimin reached for your hand, lacing her fingers with yours as you walked. Her touch was warm, grounding, and you felt a quiet sense of peace settle over you.

As you rounded a bend in the path, you spotted three familiar faces waiting by a bench.

Minjeong waved excitedly, her grin as bright as the sun. Aeri and Yizhuo were beside her, both of them holding drinks from the nearby café.

“About time you showed up!” Yizhuo called out, her voice teasing.

“Cooper needed to inspect every tree,” Jimin said with a laugh, giving the leash a gentle tug.

You couldn’t help but smile as you approached them, the warmth of their welcome washing over you.

As you sat down with them, Cooper flopped onto the grass, content and happy. Jimin’s hand never left yours, her thumb brushing softly against your knuckles.

For the first time in years, you felt like you were exactly where you were meant to be.

Loved. Supported. Happy.

And as you laughed with your friends, Jimin’s hand in yours, you knew that this was just the beginning of something beautiful. a/n: this one was easier to write, probably because it hits a bit to close to home lol

[stove-top96]

Water Colour Eyes

Chapter 01

Y Batfam x Gn Reader

Featuring: platonic Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne (no Jason in this chapter)

2.3k words

Im very new to tumblr and was recently inspired by @acid-ixx to try writing my own story, please go easy on me but any and all advice will be greatly appreciated. (Im still trying to figure out how this app works but I know the basics). The only knowledge I have of working in a restaurant is bistro huddy.

Rubbing your temples you could just feel the headache forming. It was going to be one of those shifts, the kind that drags on and on. Standing behind the hostess stand shuffling through the reservation book scanning for anything out of the ordinary. Flipping through the pages only pausing once you spot his name “Bruce Wayne”. That name became a fixture in the book, always booking at 6:30 and specifically requesting you as his server. Within the past 2 months he’s definitely become your regular, and although he is technically your only regular, he just has a certain quality that sets him apart from your co-workers regulars. Sure he’s a pleasure to have as a customer, always punctual, kind, and very generous with the tips. There’s just something you can’t quite place your finger on, he tends to get a little personal. He started calling you by your first name, and always asked you about your life. But you’ve always chalked it up to him being a ditzy guy who’s never been told no. Even if he carries himself with a certain air, alluding that he knows much more than he lets on. it seems like no one else questions it, so why should you? Regardless, his tips were good enough to let him call you by your name and ask you about your personal life.

La Vie Royale was always busy on Fridays. Swarming with creeps who always stared too long, and buzzing with heiresses who always had something to complain about. For being Gothams richest they almost never tipped well, and when they did it was some lonely wealthy old weirdo on a date with their sugar baby. Co-workers weren’t much help either, specifically the superiors always criticizing and critiquing never bothering to hide the contempt in their voices when speaking. The Kitchen was like another world, one you weren’t welcome in. The other servers stayed in their lane, and always kept to each other. That’s what it’s like for every newbie who somehow snatches Gothams richest billionaire for a regular. The only saving grace was the hostesses who, like you, were at the bottom of the La Vie Royale food chain.

Glancing at the clock reading 5:47, plenty of time to mentally prepare for dealing with Albertine while you serve the playboy billionaire. Albertine was possibly the worst manager for the night, she’d always get so on edge when she’d find out he was dining here for the evening. Glancing over and you can see her talking to one of the other servers, eyes locked on you. God, you could just feel that headache getting worse, and after a long day of classes you pray he’d be a no show for once. Wishful thinking though, the best you can hope for is getting through this shift without a lecture. Rather than contemplating how dreadful this shift will be at the hostess stand, you might as well look busy and get a head start on your side work.

Once the minute hand hit 30 like clock work, Bruce Wayne walked in. Smiling at the familiar face of the regular, this time he wasn’t alone. Three young men walked in right after. Raising an eyebrow, they were clearly in the same party. Why didn’t his assistant say he’d have guests when they booked him the reservation? Looking more closely at the boys it’s clear they also have that odd quality in common with Mr Wayne. One looked barely out of high school, and had been scrolling on his phone with a smirk on his face. The youngest, likely in middle school, had an aura that demanded a respect unfit for his age. The oldest, probably in his mid twenties, seemed to have a natural charm to him. You had always known Wayne had his fair share of children, he talked about them often although you could never put a name to a face.

“Wow Mr Wayne, you finally brought some guests with you today” you tease as you greet the group and check them in for their reservation. you hear a chuckle and glance up to see Bruce’s smile, it’s warm and reaches his eyes. “Well I figured it was about time I took my kids out with me”. Giving a polite nod and smiling as he introduces his kids. “I see, your table will ready in a few minutes, we didn’t expect you to bring any guests tonight” Mr Wayne huffs eyeing the oldest “I apologize it was a last minute change in plans, Dick was visiting and insisted on going out” The oldest Dick chimes in “you’ll still be able to fit us in right?” His voice is calm, like he knows the answer and just wants you to hear you talk. “ I’m sure we can, I’ll just have to go clear the table” eyes glued to the reservation book, moving some other reservations around to accommodate the new change. Something a restaurant as refined as La Vie Royale would never do, although Albertine and every other superior insisted that Mr Wayne be accommodated in any way possible. He brought good press, and according to a rumour amongst the staff he even considered buying it a while back. Giving the group a polite nod as you rush off, to clear the other tables. Missing the brief dejected look on the oldest boy's face.

Albertine noticing the Wayne family standing alone makes a beeline towards them. “Have you been helped yet?” She asks in a voice the family could only describe as sickly sweet. “Yes our server is just clearing the table” Tim’s voice monotone, not even bothering to glance up from his phone. Albertine pauses, eyes widening for a split second then back to the false smile “I see” she says as if contemplating something before walking away, sending a sharp glare in your direction as she does. The interaction not going unnoticed by the Wayne’s. “you will be at fault if they get reprimanded” Damian pipes up glaring at Tim. Staring down at the younger Wayne, “she’ll find something to get mad at tonight no matter what” he argues back, knoe he doesn’t have the best excuse. A small feeling of guilt starts to bubble in his chest. Tim realized his slip up too late. It's likely you’ll get yelled at for keeping such “prestigious guests waiting” once they’ve finished with their meal. Glancing at Dick’s and Bruce’s faces, it’s clear they’re planning ways to ease the consequences you’ll likely face later tonight. Tim glances back down to Damian only to find his glare still present.

“Thank you for your patience” your voice pulls them out of their trance, calming down the rising tension. It reminds them of why they came tonight, to see you. Oblivious to their true intentions you smile, grabbing the menus “follow me”. As you lead them to their table Bruce and Tim make note of how many others are sitting in your section for the night, some of them they recognize from galas others are unimportant. however your section is completely full. Finally reaching their table, it isn’t Bruce’s normal table much to his disdain; he doesn't have the vantage point to subtly watch over you. Although one thing he can see from his seat is that horrid woman glaring at you, waiting for the chance to take you away from them only just to scold you. After dropping off the menus and giving a rundown of the night's specials, you leave telling them you’ll be back in a few minutes for their orders. As you walk away Bruce notices your manager snapping with her hands and glaring at you with that permanent scowl on her face. She motions for you to follow her to the back.

After witnessing that interaction the boys are only left to imagine what she’s yelling at you about. Most of the family members are able to hide their contempt after seeing your manager's rude behaviour, the witch’s actions will likely dictate the mood for the rest of the night. Dick is the only one visibly upset, Blüdhaven has been so chaotic recently getting to see you tonight had been the only thing that kept him from falling apart. Now because that wicked witch of the waste is on some power trip, whatever lecture she’s giving you right now will weigh on you the whole night, leaving you to be even more reserved than you already are. How is he supposed to be a good brother to you if you don't let him in?,The rest of the family comes to a similar conclusion. It's clear that this job environment is an unhealthy one, they would rather you work somewhere else, or better yet not at all. The only reason they’ve allowed you to work here for so long is because it’s the most practical way to grow closer to you. Once they’re further along with the plan, you won’t ever have to step foot in this place again.

“Sorry about the wait” your voice soft, eyes not meeting theirs, face carrying a faint frustration. their prediction clearly came to fruition, much to the family’s displeasure. “What can I get y’all to drink” you smile, attempting to remain composed as you take their orders. A quality of yours the family admired, although they often wished you’d take your mask off and allow yourself to be vulnerable around them. But for now they’re your guests, not your family. Writing down their order smiling the same forced smile “perfect I’ll be right back with those” once again walking away. “Why can’t that women understand they’re not meant to handle that much pressure, it’s absurd how she expects them to perform optimally now” Damian voices his opinion, his expression unreadable to most but it’s evident to the family he’s unbelievably angry at just how much you let that women affect you. “Why can’t you just fire her, it would make our baby bird's life much easier” Dick who is also in aggrence, his protectiveness evident in his voice. Dick’s question goes unanswered. Truthfully even if some of the family tries to dénie it, the reason they kept all these horrible coworkers around you was selfish. They wanted to push you to your limits, before they swooped in to save you.

3 minutes is the standard time for a table to wait for drinks. However with the Waynes your managers instilled into the whole staff that they never wait for a table, 1 minute 50 seconds is their standard for drinks and 25 minutes for food. With Albertine breathing down your neck, having 4 other tables to attend too, and a pounding headache. there’s not much keeping you from breaking down. The only thing you want right now is your bed, but that won’t happen for at least another 4 hours depending on when you're cut. At least Roa clocks in at 7:00, which is in roughly 10 minutes. Finishing off the drinks with Bruce’s red wine, you push down your stress and prepare to head over. “Here you go” you place everyone’s respective drinks in front of them. “Is everyone ready to order” hand instivily reaching for your notebook, but remembering what Albertine told you in the back “if you want to look somewhat professional at least memorize their orders, no notepad” you stop yourself, and pray they don’t order anything too complicated. “I’ll have the 8oz steak, medium rare” Burce’s order wouldn’t be a problem, he always got the same thing. “Can I get the Coq au vin” the oldest boy orders, who you’re pretty sure is dick. Tim goes next “I’ll get the boeuf bourguignon”, he has a satisfied smirk, probably because he has the best pronunciation so far. “may I have the ratatouille” The youngest orders, clearly annoyed by his brother’s antics. “Perfect I’ll go ring those in”, mumbling their orders to yourself as you ring them in, thankful they didn’t ask for any accommodations or changes you should be able to remember them just fine.

“They won’t make a mistake will they?” Dick asks, stressed at the fact they didn’t grab their notebook. “They shouldn’t, although if you ordered what you originally wanted they definitely would have” Bruce’s answer’s straight to the point. Although there’s a subtle praise in his wording, appreciating how they eased your workload. “It’s despicable just how much they're overworking them here” Damian's scowl seems to be permanent as he watches you attend to other tables, he knows it’s your job but they’re the Waynes they should be the only table you attend to tonight. That good for nothing manager who cares far too much about their opinion can’t even get that one thing right. “You got that right, and with how the night’s going I bet they’ll only check on us two times, three if we’re lucky” Tim’s voice piss’s Damian off even more, even if it is in agreement. “You don’t actually mean that” Dick pipes in,his voice radiating a sense of distress. “Of course I do, look at them. barely keeping it together” Tim points out. It’s true the tension in your shoulders is evident and your mask is already slipping, the worst part there’s almost nothing they can do besides tip you. Although even that doesn’t feel like enough. The server’s here tip out not only to the hostesses and busboys but also to the back, additionally you all have to pool your tips and split them evenly amongst the staff. This fact does nothing but motivate the Waynes to get you out of here as soon as possible.

23 minutes tick by, as the Wayne family watches you talk to other customers, complete your side work, and narrowly avoid another scolding from that damn manager. It bothers them that Tim was right, accepting that tonight is just an evening of observing you rather than growing slightly closer. It's moments like these that makes Bruce wish his name wasn’t as influential as it is. Thankfully you approach them once again with their meals. Although, the stress on your face is more prominent than earlier, the smile is even more forced, with the way you carry yourself you’re clearly being pushed to the limits. “Here you all go” even your voice sounds so much more tired, compared to when you were greeting them. At least you got their order right, not that any of them would say anything if you didn’t. “Anything else I can grab you?” You ask, so considerate they really should be the ones taking care of you, but all in due time. “I believe we’ll be alright” Bruce replies, not wanting you to strain yourself even more.

Only approaching them once as they ate, only to ask them if everything was to their liking. They knew it was protocol to ask each table that question, but they still wished you’d approach them, and initiate a conversation about anything but the food. As they ate in silence it’s clear tonight they didn’t make as much progress as they’d like. Maybe Bruce should have kept these outings to himself for a little longer. Or perhaps they should go on a day Jacques is the manager, he tends to be somewhat more lenient. Whatever the case may be this evening has been bittersweet for the entire family, and they’ll plan accordingly for next week to make up for the lost progress. Because that’s what family does for each other, they go above and beyond.

Next

[sapphicbb]

FINE LINES — juju watkins

≋ pairing → j. watkins x black!reader

≋ song → fine lines by jorja smith

≋ warnings → angstyyy, ends with fluffy fluff, imagining reader is like 5’10, situationship, no use of y/n, pet name (baby), lowercase intended, unedited sorry!

≋ word count → 2.7k

≋ notes → hihihiii everyone !! my first time writing a wbb ff so go easy on me pls… love my gf juju downnnn ! was gonna make this hella fluffy but then i was like nahhhh but yeah tell me how you feel ab this and if i should write more of these

the pale glow from your laptop illuminated your features as you stared at the assignment you have been trying to complete for the past hour. rubbing your temple, you sigh and close your eyes before laying your head down on the desk.

right before a light slumber could take over your senses, the vibrating sound coming from your phone chimed from besides your head. you rolled your eyes, fighting the urge to let the message sit in the notification center for a bit longer.

something in you told you to flip over the phone and at least see who texted you. listening to that gut feeling, you turned your head to the side and lazily held the screen up. your eyes widened as your gaze scanned over the unsaved number you remembered by heart.

sitting up straight, you rolled your tongue against your bottom lip before unlocking your phone to see the text. a simple “you busy??” was all that was sent, causing you to look back up to the sleeping screen in front of you.

you sucked your teeth and looked back down to the screen, seeing the little three dots pop up and disappear. “not really, wtv??” you responded back because who were you kidding? that assignment was not getting completed tonight.

shutting down your laptop, you thought about what storm juju could possibly be typing up at that moment. you and juju have been in the confusing limbo between lovers and good friends for the past few months and it has been eating you alive.

it wasn't what you wanted, but for the past month you have been picking up juju’s subtle hints of not wanting to be in a committed and labeled relationship with you. it’s been bugging you for a while, but you were scared if you brought up your anxieties with the girl, then whatever is happening between the two of you would come to an end.

you snapped out of your thoughts when you felt your phone vibrate. taking a breath, you slowly opened the message. “ima be there in 20 get ready” you furrowed your brows at text, instantly moving your thumbs to send a text back. “who said you can js come over at 9pm like that…”

a couple seconds passed by before her text back rolled in. “me. now I'm seeing a lot of typing when you should be getting ready… okay? okay.” you let out a small laugh at her remark, a budding smile taking over your lips as much as you tried to counter it with an eye roll of feigned annoyance.

“you're gonna be real surprised when i don't answer that door” you replied before getting off of your bed and walking to your closet, changing from your green moomoo into a black hoodie and sweats. You moved to your vanity where you did your edges and applied vaseline to your lips.

after you were done, you scrolled through tiktok until you heard the familiar sound of a knock on the front door. exiting your room, you maneuvered through the dorm until you reached the front door, debating on whether or not you should make the basketball player wait outside any longer.

counting down from ten at a relatively slow pace, you hid the smile on your face with a bored look as you opened the door. “what happened to not answering the door?” juju smartly questioned, visibly attempting and failing to hide that shit-eating grin that threatened to crawl onto her face.

“girl- you better wipe that smile off your face. ‘shouldn’t have even opened this door.” you said with a small eye roll as you opened the door wide enough for her to step through. “yes ma'am.” she sarcastically stated while entering the dorm. you closed the door behind her before being pulled into a hug.

juju wrapped her arms around your frame, slightly swaying the two of you side to side as she did so. you loved juju’s hugs because they always left you with a smile on your face. as the hug came to an end, you heard the brief and soft sound of juju breathing you in.

“i missed you.” juju admitted, putting her hands in her pockets as she took a step back. “we saw each other a couple days ago, juju.” you said with a slight laugh, mentally stomping on the butterflies that invaded your stomach at her words.

“okay, but like, that was for like ten minutes and my teammates were there. it didn't count.” you rolled your eyes at her defense, crossing your arms. “and how did that not count?” you watched as juju’s eyes scattered around your facial features, landing on your lips for a millisecond more than what would be deemed as appropriate before moving back up to your eyes.

“because i couldn't do this.” before you knew it, you felt juju’s soft and gentle lips on yours. the kiss had a tenderness to it with blatant underlying emotions shining through. she had kissed you like this a couple of times before, but each and every time you feel like you were transported to a place outside of space and time.

you pulled away first and opened your eyes, watching as she did the same. your mind was screaming that she could've if she wanted to, but of course you didn't let it slip out. “you ready to go?” she asked, putting her hands back in her pockets and licking her lips.

“almost, i just gotta put on some shoes and grab my wallet.” you said while beginning the walk to your room, the sound of your slippers clacking with every step.

“girl bye, you know you don't gotta bring your wallet!” you faintly heard juju call out from the living room with a laugh. you shook your head, grabbing your wallet and phone on the desk before moving to your shoe rack and slipping on your black tasman uggs.

you walked back into the main room where you saw juju lounging on the couch with a small smile towards her phone as she typed away. clearing your throat, you made your presence known to juju as she stood up and slid her phone in her pocket.

“you gotta walk louder or something, almost scared the shit out of me.” she dramatically said, clenching at her heart with a laugh as she rounded the couch to you.

you faked a laugh back, catching how quick she put her phone away after just cheesing at it. “where are we going?” you asked as the two of you reached the door, grabbing your keys from the hook as she opened the door for you.

“i was thinking we get some food and chill. those stories on your spam looked like you were going through it.” she said with a shrug, watching as you locked the door and guided the two of you to the elevators.

recalling the sped up video of you on the edge of tweaking out over one of your classes followed by a series of threats of dropping out you posted on your spam’s stories, you didn't think that the girl walking behind you would actually be an active viewer.

you covered your face and quietly groaned, trying to recover from the embarrassment while juju’s light laughs bounced off the walls. stopping in your steps, you quickly snapped your neck to the girl, almost getting whiplash as you put your hand on your hip and gave her an accusatory look.

“whats so funny?” she stopped laughing at your sharp, yet playful, words, holding her hands up in defense as a smile slipped onto her face. “nothing at all. must've been the wind…” she drew out as you tilted your head and narrowed your eyes.

“mhm, that's what i thought, four eyes.” you hummed out, watching the overhead lights slightly reflect from her glasses. you loved how she looked with her glasses, but you could never resist the urge to tease her about them.

you also had glasses but never wore them. your eye doctor hates to see you coming.

turning back around as you watched her jaw drop and the elevator doors open. “see, cause we can really get active.” she jokingly sized you up, causing you to wave her off before stepping in the elevator. “lets get active then!” you dramatically challenged, bringing your hands up into a fighting stance and waving your hands.

juju shook her head with a smile and rolled her eyes when you motioned for her to make a move. she lightly slapped the side of your head and weaved away from your slap back.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

you gazed at juju’s side profile as she made a turn out of the chick-fil-a parking lot. the mellow sounds of tonight by summer walker drifted through the car, accompanied by juju’s faint hums. “i can feel you staring.” she let out, a small smile playing at her lips when she shifted her eyes onto you once the light turned red.

“i don't know what you're talking about.” you covered up, facing directly ahead of you even though you were already caught. juju shook her head and shifted in her seat, occasionally looking back over at you. after a few minutes of comfortable silence and you texting your friends, you felt juju back up into a parking space and looked up.

she had driven the both of you to a small and relatively empty park. after getting out of the car, you grabbed the bag of food and she grabbed the drinks before heading to a picnic table by a streetlight. setting the food and drinks on the table, you took the seat across from her.

“you really have to let me pay next time, judea.” you drew out, removing your portion of food from the bag and setting it on the table along with napkins. juju sucked her teeth and waved her off as she dipped a fry.

“government is crazy, but i was the one who invited you out, it just makes sense that i pay.” she shrugs before eating the fry. “okay but, even when i invited you to the fair like three weeks ago you wouldn’t let me pay for anything but the food.” she took a sip of her drink before responding.

“let me appreciate you how i want to, okay?” she playfully declared, continuing to eat her food. you dramatically sighed, taking a bite of your own food. a comfortable silence rested amongst the two of you until juju eventually broke it.

“i also wanted to spend time with you because i feel like you've just been hella distant lately. at least with me.” she expressed in a more serious tone, eyes studying your body language and expressions behind those thick rimmed glasses.

you furrowed your brows, although deep down you knew there was some truth to what she was saying. although the two of you weren't in an official relationship, you still felt some type of way when you saw or heard about her flirting with other girls.

it pained you each and every time and the best way you could think of becoming less bothered was by giving her some space and treating the situation the two of you had going on as more of a friendship than what you so deeply wanted it to be.

“i’ve just been so busy with school and work.” you partly lied. “bullshit. i’ve seen you laughing it up with your other friends around campus, but when i want to facetime or spend time with you lately you've been ducking me more and more. why is that?”

you scratched your eyebrow, contemplating on if it was the right time to have this conversation. her phone lit up, but she paid no mind to it. as you opened your mouth to speak she cut you off before you could come up with an excuse.

“and don't tell me another weak excuse. you know i hate when you do that. just tell me the real reason straight up.” she stated, watching the conflicting emotions take over your face.

“i like you a lot.” you started out, keeping your eyes focused on your cup as you played with the straw. “and i like you a lot.” juju responded with a shrug like it was common knowledge.

you bit down on your bottom lip before sighing. “what are we doing?” you asked her, finally making eye contact with the girl in front of you. you’ve been avoiding it this whole time due to how strong her gaze felt. “you tell me.” you rolled your eyes at her remark and began fidgeting with your hands.

“it feels like i’m the only one who wants to make what we have official. i want to be in a real relationship with you and…” you sighed, running a hand over your head, deciding that you should just let all your emotions out. “fuck it, i’ll just say it. seeing you flirt with and entertain other girls makes me feel like shit inside. and i get it if you're not ready—you’ve made it known—but, like, tell me now before i get more attached.”

you're heart hurt as you looked anywhere but the girl in front of you as you tried to hold back any tears from falling. it was silent for a second, the only sounds that were heard were the sounds of the tree’s in the breeze and the distant traffic.

you felt nauseous with how long juju was taking to respond, wishing that you just kept your mouth shut and didn't tell her how you were actually feeling. “who said i wasn't ready?” your eyes instantly snapped to the brown-eyed girl in front of you.

your eyebrows furrowed as she continued. “baby, i’ve been waiting for you to say something. you've been so distant so i thought you really didn't want anything to do with me like that.“ she begun, taking a breath of relief. you started to shake your head but she nodded with a smile.

“i know that's not what it is now, but for like the past few weeks that's what i thought it was. i might sound like a total dick for saying this but i genuinely dont care for any of the girls i have been entertaining with the way i care for you. they were honest distractions until you came around wanting more than what we have now.”

you felt so many emotions at the moment, but the one that shined through the most was the pure joy at her words. “if i knew we were on the same page, i would've been asked you to be my girlfriend!” you expressed with a laugh, causing juju’s smile to grow bigger.

“are you asking me to be your girlfriend?” she cheeses, slightly bringing a shoulder up as she grabbed your hand. you tried to go stale face but were too overjoyed at the moment. “No. I want to do something special.” you could see how she blushed at your words and adjusted her glasses.

“you don't have to do all that…” she drew out but you shook your head. “let me appreciate you how i want to, okay?” you mimicked her words back to her, causing her to playfully gasp and remove her remaining hand from your hand.

“not you using my words against me, wow…” she drew out with a laugh. the two of you finished your food as you went into playful banter.

after chatting at the park for a good twenty minutes, the two of you were back in the car heading towards your dorm. the energies were much different than they had been on the way to the park.

the rays of each streetlight the car passed seeped through the windows and casted a light glow upon the two of you. juju grabbed your jaw with one hand, squeezing your cheeks and moving your head side to side while she loudly sang along to gonna love me by teyana taylor.

as the car reached a red light, you stole a kiss to which she happily gave. the car was full of hope, happiness, and blissful young love. you couldn't have imagined a better outcome for the night.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

[amuyyi]

warm enough .

synopsis; recovering from an expected breakup, you find yourself drunk at a nearby bar, encountering an unfamiliar girl who happens to know your ex.

trope; non idol!ningning x fem!reader, uni au, fluff, a little angst, a little suggestive, strangers to lovers, feat. kep1er members :3

wc; 4.8k

cw; a little suggestive but not really

a/n; fun fact this happened to me irl ! figured i could use my experiences for stories ! everything from the breakup to the bar kiss is based on my personal experience so lol have fun. also its kinda poorly written because i wrote some of it while on the plane + in china while being very tired and i dont feel like proofreading so im sorry ^^'

The breakup was supposed to be a mutual thing. A smooth and easy agreement between you and Jimin. You guys met in a cafe when your soon-to-be-ex girlfriend finally dropped the bomb on you. 

“I still care a lot about you, y/n. But I want to focus on myself and my future… I think you should too.”

You wanted to speak up, say that you didn’t want to let go yet. Just… hold on for a little longer. Maybe it’d get better if you guys just kept it going for another week. Another month. Another day?

 “What I’m trying to say is…”

You always hated this part.

“I think we should break up.”

Despite the older girl being the one to initiate the ending of the relationship, you always knew it was coming. Jimin was sweet, and you definitely did enjoy the little dates you guys had been on through the past year, but there was something missing. Every time she looked at you, it seemed like she was looking through your eyes into her own. Her mind was always elsewhere whenever you two were together, like she was searching for something you couldn’t provide. She never seemed to smile around you, never laughed loudly or hugged you with warmth. 

You really tried to be the person for her, you really did; but it was apparent that she was trying to convince herself you were the one as well.

It was shown in the way she bought you endless gifts with things you said you wanted, but never kissed you, In the way she would allow you to hold her hand, but never reached out herself, how she couldn’t bring herself to say “I love you” out loud. Jimin was cold.

You agreed that this was the best path to take, how you felt the exact same way and that it would be good for the both of you, but the tears that nonconsensually left your eyes said otherwise. You still remember the last words you told her before you got up to leave.

“I really hoped it was you.”

There's a saying or the other. “Your body will know if someone is right for you.” You came across it while aimlessly scrolling on social media once, and you thought it was an interesting but ridiculous concept. Countless people would share stories about how their hair would fall out or how they would break out into horrible acne when they were with their past partners, only being relieved from this when single or with their “match.”

It was funny, and you didn’t believe one bit of it until it actually happened. The tightness in your chest that followed you every time you two went out together, the stress of wondering if she actually enjoyed her company, the way you couldn’t truly relax in her presence– it all went away. It all left when she walked out of your life, and you’ve never felt more at peace with a decision. At least, for a little bit.

The breakup was the easy part. It was the recovery that ruined you.

You were the one to establish a rule of no contact, even after you both expressed wanting to stay in touch. It was your only way to hold on to the last sliver of pride you had left after spending a year chasing after Yu Jimin. The rule was established to allow you some time to heal, and you hoped to return to the girl as friends once you felt ready.

With this in mind, you then proceeded to spend a month barely eating, barely sleeping, and not leaving your apartment unless you needed to for classes. It was difficult to be on your own after dedicating so much time to her, falling behind, hoping that she would see you the way you saw her; but after about a month, you slowly felt yourself regaining your footing.

You started going out again, talking with your roommate, taking time to actually care for yourself. It was nice. Perhaps your progress would have left you comfortable enough to move on if you didn’t decide to go out that day.

There she was. Yu Jimin. After an exact 31 days of no contact with her, you finally cross paths. Quite literally, at that– but she wasn’t alone. There was a girl on her arm. She was pretty. Blonde with bobbed hair and a soft smile that made it impossible to hate her. Jimin was smiling too. This is the first time you’ve seen her smile like that, smiling as if she found what she was looking for after all of this time. She doesn't look past her. She sees her.

Jimin holds the other girl by the small of her waist the way she used to do with you, and she kisses her. She kissed her. Just like how she used to kiss you, but not exactly. There's love in her eyes. A warmth you’ve never seen before. In her eyes, there is certainty.

And that was the day your world came crashing down on top of you.

You tried to act normal as you walked past. You really did. Your eyes remain glued to your phone as your knuckles turn white. Her eyes didn’t even meet yours as you walked by. Why wouldn't she look at you? Maybe she's wondering why you won't look at her. That must be it. You hold your breath. As soon as she passed by, you couldn’t help yourself. You made the mistake of looking back.

…Nothing.

As soon as Jimin was out of sight, you cried. You ran home, scaring half the life out of your poor roommate, Xiaoting, as you collapsed in your bed. Everything hurts. Why did it hurt? You wanted this. You felt better without her— the tightness in your chest was gone. 

Instead, it was replaced by an indescribably painful ache. One that felt so deep within your soul it would never heal. Quietly entering your room, Xiaoting says nothing as she sits next to your limp body on the bed, rubbing your back comfortingly. The gesture only makes you sob even harder. 

She's been with you through it all. From the beginning of your relationship with Jimin till the end, she was there. Xiaoting really was a good friend.

From then on, Xiaoting’s one goal was simple: cheer you up. She would cook at least once for you every day despite not being the best chef, and she would allow you to rant about the same things over and over no matter how overbearing it got. Honestly, you started to feel a little bad. She shouldn’t have to bend over backwards for you just because you’re a little sad.

So when Xiaoting announces that you will be joining her at the bar with her friends tonight, you couldn't say no. Both because she stated it, not asked you, and that it simply was the least you could do for her. Especially after everything she’s done for you. Before you knew it, you were dressed up in your best (slutty) corset top and cargo pants with some hoops and over exaggerated makeup to accent the look. Xiaoting, as your best roommate and friend, matches with you, and you two make a big scene out of getting ready together; blasting music, doing each other's hair, borrowing each other's clothes, and more.

Xiaoting’s girlfriend Yujin had made herself at home for the pregame, and your mutual friend Hikaru soon followed. With Xiaoting as designated bartender, the four of you mingle, laughing and cracking jokes as the warmth of the alcohol and one another’s presence left you with a warming buzz. Xiaoting was an excellent mixer, and in combination with the chasers Hikaru bought and the drinking games Yujin proposed, you were all ready to go. 

Xiaoting and Yujin led the way, hand in hand as you and Hikaru trailed behind, drunkenly singing into the cold night air as you trek to the nearest bar.

Being a Friday night, the establishment had been as packed as expected, and you all squeezed your way past other visitors as you’re guided to a nearby table. Xiaoting starts off strong, ordering shots for the entire group before utilizing her combined charm alongside her girlfriend’s looks to convince guys to purchase drinks for everyone as well. You couldn’t help but laugh at the way the duo would bat their eyelashes innocently at lone men for drinks– but at least it worked.

Lazily, your eyes wander through the crowd, the alcohol in your system making it a struggle to see straight. Despite your inability to see properly, you still manage to catch a glimpse of your friends from the corner of your eye, and easily spot Yujin attempting to very publicly make out with Xiaoting as Hikaru struggles to pull her away. You stifle a laugh at the sight, and decide to leave the three to their antics whilst you look for someone to talk to.

It's been a while since you last struck up a conversation with a stranger. The last time you had put yourself out there was before you met… 

You shake your head. No. You are not letting your stupid ex ruin your night. Knitting your brows in concentration, you scan the bar. There were plenty of pretty girls to talk to, but you were feeling a little intimidated. Almost all of them came with at least one other person, and you didn’t want to intrude on anything…

 Your eyes landed on a lone blonde at the end of the table, scrolling through her phone with alcohol flushed cheeks. She seemed approachable. Worst case scenario, she simply shoos you off. Taking a deep breath, you approach the blonde, deciding to pull out your best conversation starter.

“Are you chinese? You look chinese!!” You exclaim, suddenly switching to mandarin in the middle of your sentence as you ask the question. Smooth.

The blonde girl looks as if she would’ve been extremely offended at the comment if you didn't just speak to her in her native tongue halfway through your sentence, and she quirks a brow at you, an amused smirk on her lips as she leans against the bar. 

“Yeah, I am! What's a cutie like you doing in a place like this alone??” 

You feel your heart begin to race. So far so good. “I'm not alone!!! My friends are just busy making out with each other and the other is trying to stop them!!” You also lean on the bar, though not as alluring as the blonde before you. More like you partially collapsed and partially slid on it.

She chortles at your response, “well that's not fair to you, leaving you here all alone.”

The sweet and somewhat sultry tone of the blonde makes (non alcohol induced) blush appear on your face as you laugh, “it really isn't! But whatever! My name is y/n by the way!! What's yours??” You scream over the music, sticking your hand out. It was an unexpectedly polite gesture considering your circumstances, and perhaps it may have seemed a bit comical as well with how drunk you were.

She giggles at the response, grabbing your hand then pulling you in, her lips dangerously close to your ear as she yells over the music, “Ning Yizhuo. But call me Ningning! It's cuter!”

You grin. Ningning was a cute nickname. You decided at this very moment you could trust this cute stranger with your life story and personal information she didn’t ask for, and begin to slur out.

“My friends dragged me out here because I was sad over my ex who moved on from me a month after the breakup even though we dated for a year and she's a big jerk for that even though I wish only the best for her but also I hope she dies!!!”

None of the words you spoke just now came out clear, and they seemed to trip over one another when leaving your mouth, but it was enough for the other girl to go from extremely relaxed to suddenly very heated. She stands up straight as her eyebrows knit together.

“To be honest I don’t think she ever really liked me in the first place! I don’t know!! Whatever it doesn’t matter!!!” You continue on, sounding absolutely pathetic as you let yourself feel through the anger you didn’t even know you were repressing, “I was stupid to stay with someone who couldn’t even look me in the eye when saying she loved me!! She was stupid to do the same!! Whatever!! I don’t know!!”

Ningning cuts you off with a raised hand before you can continue, “what the hell?! I hate people like that!!  You're wayyyy too hot to be treated that way! Who is she? What's her name?? I might know her!!”

Against your better drunken judgment, you decide to name drop your ex within a university bar. Because that is always a good idea. “Yu Jimin!! She's a engineering major !!!”

Ningning’s jaw drops as she stares at you, almost as if she were trying to find the correct words for what she has to say next.

“Girl, I know her !!!” She screams out after a brief moment of silence,  “we shared a class together once!! Oh my god I'm so sorry I didn't know she was like that!! You deserve BETTER!” 

Before you could even think of what to say in reaction to that heavy load of information, Ningning grabs your face, pulling you into a kiss. It was a very messy one, her lips almost missing your own during the exchange. Seems like she's not entirely sober either. 

Still, even in your drunken state you knew what to do. Your hands immediately find Ningnings hair as you pull her in closer, and you can feel her smiling as she grazes her tongue over the bottom of your lip. 

You open your mouth to let her in and the only thing that you can think of or even feel for that matter is Ningning and her tongue. She… was really good at this. Jimin never kissed you like this before. Her hands trail down your back to your ass before she squeezes it, smirking when you squirm against her touch.

She breaks the kiss, her face inches away from yours as she breathes out, “you deserve so much better…” Ningning gives you a quick peck on the lips before stepping back, taking in her work with a devilish glint in her eyes. You stare at her dumbfounded for a moment before whipping out your phone, fully talking in your appearance. Your hair and makeup were a wreck. How did all of that happen just now?

“Done by yours truly~” Ningning winks at you, quickly slipping your phone out of your hand and typing something in.

“Wh��� Wait what are you doing?”

“Giving you my number, obviously. My girls are gonna wonder where I went.” She hands back your phone and looks at you with soft eyes through her drunken daze. 

“Take care of yourself, yeah?” Ningning kisses you one last time, giving your hand a squeeze before letting go. She disappears into the crowd of partygoers, a sly fox-like grin on her face.

“There you are!” 

You feel an arm land on your shoulder as you jump, twirling around and looking down to see a drunk Hikaru with a slightly less drunk Xiaoting and an absolutely hammered Yujin on her side.

“We should probably head back home!” Xiaoting screams into your ear, “Hikaru’s gonna knock out on the couch and Yujin will be with me!”

Her words barely make it through to you, the music and the alcohol and the adrenaline within your system muffling out every word spoken. Regardless, you still nod and trail behind your friends as you leave, not all too sure what just happened.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

You lay in bed, eyes practically burning holes into the new contact in your phone. “宁宁<3” is what it said. 

So last night wasn’t just a dream. You really did just get a girl's number by doing nothing but spilling your secrets to a stranger. On top of all of that, your head was absolutely killing you, you swore you could feel your heartbeat within your brain. Still, that wasn’t important. Biting your lip, your fingers hover over the contact name. Should you message her? 

y/n [10:59]  — hey !! its y/n, the girl from the bar

y/n [10:59]  — thanks for keeping me company last night :)

ningning [11:06]  — i was wondering if u were gonna text me back

ningning [11:06] — and of course <3 jimin doesn’t know what she lost

y/n [11:08] — haha im flattered

y/n [11:08]  — but u barely know me??

ningning [11:11]  — that can change xx

Your eyes widen as you reread the text over and over again. Is she implying what you think she's implying? What if she's just being friendly? Can you even platonically make out with someone at the bar?

y/n [11:16] — are u asking me out on a date ning yizhuo ?

You wait. 

Oh god. What if she was just being friendly?

ningning [11:18]  — only if youll have me 

You feel yourself blush at her message, burying your face into your pillow as you squeal like a high school teenager in love. It was embarrassing in hindsight, but.. it felt nice to be wanted. 

y/n [11:19] —  of course

ningning [11:19] — perfect <3 

ningning [11:20] — dinner at my place tonight then? 

ningning [11:20] — If youre not too hungover.. 

ningning [11:20] — i got the best hangover cures ;)

you can't help but arch your eyebrow at the winky face she added at the end but brushed it off, more focused on the fact that your drunk hatred towards your ex landed you a date. 

You scramble to your feet and (metaphorically) kick down Xiaoting’s door, abruptly waking the girl from her nap as she screams out, “WO CAO!” She places a hand over her heart as she bolts up within her bed, immediately letting out a sigh of relief when she realizes it was just you. 

“Girl what the HELL is wrong with you?!” She hisses, laying back down and throwing the blanket over her head.

You, being the ever loving and best roommate ever, respond to this by jumping into bed with (on top of) the redhead and squeezing her as tight as you can while screaming “I HAVE A DATE!!!”

Xiaoting shoots back up, your arms still latched onto her torso as she looks down at you, eyes wide. “Wait, are you serious?”

You hear a low groan and a hand slapping your arm as you roll your eyes, slapping the arm back as the voice of Yujin grumbles out and shuffles deeper within the sheets.

Both you and Xiaoting look at one another and giggle before she quietly slips out of bed, quickly placing a kiss on Yujins head before grabbing your arm and leading you out of her room. Once outside, she firmly grasps your shoulders. 

“Okay, now tell me everything.”

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

You nervously stand outside of Ningnings apartment, bag clutched in hand as you look back behind you. Xiaoting sat within her car on the side of the road, keeping an eye on you to make sure this girl wasn’t going to kidnap you or the other.

The two of you (and soon enough Yujin and Hikaru) had spent the day giving you pointers on how to go about the date. They had thrown an ungodly amount of clothes your way as well as telling you endless conversation starters and compliments to give another person. By the end of it all your head was overflowing with information that you were going to forget as soon as you head out the door, and all of your closet was sprawled on your bedroom floor and in the living room. Still, the girls seemed quite proud of their work.

All of you had consecutively agreed on an outfit that was nice, but not too nice. You wore a plaid skirt paired with a simple tank top and an off the shoulder cardigan.

Holding your breath, you ring the doorbell. You really hoped this wasn’t a mistake. When was the last time you were actually on a date with someone? You couldn't remember. After a few moments of silence, you hear shuffling followed by the door unlocking and Ningning poking her head out shyly. Her eyes light up at the sight of you before opening the door completely, revealing her outfit.

She wore an oversized plaid button up, unintentionally matching with your skirt alongside baggy jeans and some bunny slippers you thought were incredibly cute. Her hair was tied up in a messy but charming bun, held up by a hair stick with small gemstones dangling from the end.

This Ningning was completely different from the one you had met at the bar last night. Though, you suppose you were a different person now as well.

“You're here! Come in come in!” She grabs your hand and guides you inside. Flustered, you spare a quick glance behind you, and you can spot the silhouette of Xiaoting throwing a thumbs up from her car before Ningning closes the door behind you.

“You look gorgeous today, by the way,” Ningning compliments, her thumb rubbing over your fingers as she walks you through her apartment. The gesture makes your cheeks warm, and you find yourself easing into her touch like putty. It was a touch that was loving. Kind. Intentional. 

Her home was cozy, with white walls paired alongside warm lighting and paintings and other wall art lining the interior. There was an appetizing aroma that wafted through the air, and you had remembered that Ningning had offered to cook for you.

“What have you prepared for us tonight, chef Ningning?” You ask, squeezing her hand as she grins, “Well it's not much, I'm not a really good cook but I decided to make us some dumplings! A little basic, but it's the only dish I feel like I’ve actually perfected.”

“I hope this is the hangover cure you mentioned” you comment lightheartedly, and you sense a playful energy in the way she looks back at you.

“You'll find out soon enough.”

You once again find yourself quirking a brow at her vague answers, but she simply smiles at you innocently and you find yourself smiling back. It was hard to not be amused by her.

Ningning guides you to the kitchen, which was cleaned perfectly for your arrival. On the center of the table were multiple bamboo steamer baskets, as well as a large tea pot and a simple glass bottle with various native wildflowers as a centerpiece. 

The other girl pulls out a chair for you, and you teasing grin at the polite gesture, “how romantic, Ninging~”

She rolls her eyes and giggles before settling down herself, instantaneously pouring you a cup of tea as she gestures at the baskets, “go on, dig in. I’ll be personally offended if you don’t.”

Chuckling, you open up the baskets, releasing clouds of steam before revealing multiple handmade dumplings with various fillings and differing folding styles. Your eyes widen, and you simply comment, “wow,” before taking the first bite of the food.

To say that it tasted amazing was an understatement– you practically felt like you were thrown back to the motherland with a single bite, and it wasn’t long before you were filling your plate with more.

The two of you had spent the rest of the evening getting to know one another more. You had learned she was a computer science major and going onto her third year of uni, as well as the fact she was from Harbing whilst you shared that you were from Shanghai. 

“Big city girl, huh?” Ningning amusedly comments, sipping on her tea as you roll your eyes, “yeah… But I'm not rich or anything before you ask.”

The blonde feigns rejection as she snaps her fingers, “damn. I was gonna ask you to buy drinks next time we head to the bars, I think you owe me. ” She smiles at you, and it's warm.

You liked this. You liked how easy it was to talk to her. It was never this easy before.

Soon enough you had ended up on Ningning’s couch, browsing through movies aimlessly as the hefty meal threatened to send you into a food coma. The blonde lay comfortably in your arms underneath a blanket, her eyes occasionally fluttering shut as you continued to search for something to watch.

“Hmm, what about… Velocipastor?” The name completely throws you off guard, prompting you to click on it, skimming over the description as you feel the vibration of Ninging lazily humming beneath you. 

“Oh that movie is really good, trust me.”

“... Really? Are you sure, Ning?”

“Yeah yeah…” Her eyes were already shut as she spoke, nuzzling in closer to you as you chuckle, putting on the movie as you wrap your arms around her, pulling her in closer. 

Honestly, the movie seemed to be an excuse for the girl to be physically close to you– maybe get a nap in? You weren’t even sure if she was watching the movie at this point. Still, maybe it was for the best. Velocipastor was definitely not well funded within its production, that much could be seen. Plus, you couldn't complain about having a cute girl in your arms.

“Does your head still hurt?”

Ningning’s soft voice rings out, startling you. Honestly, you were getting pretty invested in the film, you had thought she already fell asleep.

“Mmm, a little. I don’t think your hangover cure worked.”

“Oh, the dumplings weren’t the cure.”

Your head cocks to the side as you tear your gaze away from the tv screen, looking down at the girl nestled on your chest as she looks back up at you. There was that all too familiar glint in her eyes again.

“Then what is?”

A mischievous grin curls on her lips before she leans in, connecting her lips with yours. Still a bit sluggish from the night before alongside a hefty meal, her kissing was a bit sloppy, but it was soft. Much softer than before.

You feel yourself almost immediately sigh into the kiss, and you would have found it embarrassing if she didnt guide her hand up your chest, to your neck, and into your hair, soon deepening the kiss. 

Not expecting things to escalate so soon, you couldn’t help but let out a soft whimper as your hands landed on her hips, nails digging into her sides desperately as she laughs against your lips, pulling back. 

“You’re really cute, y’know?” She purrs, using her hand to brush a strand of hair out of your face, and you can see the hint of pink spread across her lips as she smiles, drinking in the sight of you.

Before you even have a chance to respond, Ningning tackles your jawline, trailing kisses down your face and onto your neck. You try to respond, but when she starts to nip the side of your neck, the words you wanted to say somehow managed to melt into complete mush.

“Mmhmmhgh…” 

The sound that escapes your lips allows you the chance to actually feel embarrassed, and you slam a hand over your lips, looking away from Ninging. Your response elicits another laugh from the blonde, and you swear you could listen to the sound forever. 

Her symphony soon quiets though, and Ningning looks you straight in the eye, her gaze softening as she opens her mouth, struggling to find the right words to say.

“Look, I know we just met…” she trails off for a moment, almost a bit shy to continue, “but if you want to give me a chance and see where this goes, I promise I’ll treat you so well.” 

Her eyes are filled with genuine desire for you, and you couldn’t help but feel… Isolated? Targetted? For the first time you feel like you’re seen, and you don’t know what to do about it.

She presses on, “I’d really like to see you again, and I know you’re going through a lot right now but I want to be there with you every step of the way. I want to see where this takes us.”

“I want you, y/n.”

Your face heats up instantaneously, and you swear your eyes were threatening to bulge out of your skull right then and there. You look at her in silence as you struggle to find your words, and after a few seconds you finally croak out,

“I… I want to see where this takes us too, Ningning.”

Her eyes brighten at your response, and she beams, pulling you into a tight hug on the couch before interlocking her lips with yours once again. You giggle into the kiss, and throw the blanket over the two of you as the movie on the tv buzzed on. For the first time, you found someone warm enough for you.

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 ICARIAN

FEATURING: beast dazai osamu

SUMMARY: dazai had known he was flying too close to the sun, he should have stopped himself while he still had the chance. {wordcount: 11.5k; fem!reader, romance & tragedy}

AUTHOR'S NOTES: installment fiveeeee otherwise known as part 2 of installment four LOL! ugh guys i'm dragging myself thru the trenches right now i'm so miserable - i wasn't even up to posting this today i won't lie but </3 i pulled thru </3 if only barely. fun fact this is actually only a 3 scene chapter but the second scene is just MASSIVE. i wasn't up to restructuring so you guys are just going to get it as it is. this is also unedited because i just wasn't up to it so bear with me regarding mistakes. JUST TO REMIND YOU ALL: the last installment is DELAYED - i have 3 finals next week and haven't had the time to finish it. it will be up by the end of may </3 sorry guys. wow this actually is attempt number three trying to post this correctly - i'm so shot

IMPORTANT NOTE FOR 17 & UNDER FOLLOWING THE SERIES: partially copy and pasted from badlands - if you guys read badlands, you know the deal. y'all knew what you were getting into. this is the smut chapter. but again, i'm not going to ask y'all to not interact/read a whole 12k chapter just because there's 4k words of smut, but i am going to say here the smut is in the SECOND scene. there is very little plot development in the smut itself, so i ask you guys, again, to respectfully scroll past it. i'll make the sentence when the smut starts red like this so you know that's when it starts, and then you can continue reading at the next divider. thank you for understanding! there is NO plot development in the smut, i'll reiterate that at the end where i put the summary in badlands, i restructured to make sure none of it was in it.

SMUT WARNINGS: unprotected sex, dazai cries </3 poor baby, sub!dazai, as always pussy drunk!dazai, bit of overstim on dazai's part too, jfhsuhdfsu i will say it starts on the bathroom floor so that might be a bit gross to some of you but dazai hardly even uses his apartment anyway so trust it's clean. bear with me. it just flowed from there i had to go with it. the story writes itself, i'm only the scribe. LOL let me know if i missed anything, i might have

SEE: UNREAL UNEARTH SERIES MASTERLIST READ: BADLANDS SIDE A

Dazai is hardly listening to the conversation at hand. They’ve been going back and forth for thirty minutes about inconsequential matters. Tolstoy is getting increasingly heated as he goes tit-for-tat with Nabokov, evidently the tripartite alliance between the Russian mafias is not quite enough to quell all of the bad blood that’s simmered between them, but something about the situation isn’t sitting right to Dazai. He can feel it in his gut, swirling in the depths of his chest—something is wrong but he doesn’t know what.

Mishima looks equally put out, gaze trained on Tolstoy and Nabokov’s conversation, occasionally looking back at his executives. Cao seems bored, head tilted back against the red cushions of the round booth as he smokes a cigarette; in all regards, he seems relaxed, but Dazai notices the way the fingers of his free hand are tense on the table, as if he’s bracing himself for something.

Something isn’t right.

Dostoevsky is cunning. Intelligent. He’s been lethally sharp in every universe that the other Dazais have encountered him in. He wouldn’t send Tolstoy and Nabokov into this meeting with them at each other’s throats like this without an ulterior reason. Dazai is missing something critical; he knows it’s not something as simple as wanting to give off the appearance of a divided front as means to get Dazai and Mishima to lower their guard. Nothing is that easy. There’s some ulterior motive that Dazai has to figure out.

Cao’s presence. Tolstoy and Nabokov’s blatant hostility toward one another. Mishima’s words from earlier, warning him that something seems to be brewing, that Tolstoy and Nabokov had been on edge since he arrived at the event hall. Dazai’s head hurts, and he can’t focus, not when you’re in the other room without him.

Already, he feels as if he’s been separated from you for too long, he’d been hoping this meeting was only going to last thirty minutes at most, and it’s been thirty minutes already and hardly any progress has been made. If Dazai didn’t know any better, he’d think that…

He’d think that Tolstoy and Nabokov were stalling.

At once, Dazai starts catching onto the things that he missed. The way Nabokov keeps glancing up at the clock on the wall above Cao. The way Tolstoy’s gaze keeps flickering to his phone. The way Cao’s attention seems to be elsewhere. 

Cao Xueqin. A Dream of Red Mansions. A scrying ability.

His heartbeat slows and Dazai blinks. Once. Twice. Blood roars in his ears as his gaze twists down to where his phone is laying on the table in front of him, on its face. Tachihara should have texted him to let him know that he got to you. Him or Chuuya. He usually reports to Chuuya anyway, so Dazai figured that Chuuya would’ve gotten the confirmation. He turns his head to the side to look at the executive from the corner of his eye, trying to keep his breath as slow and steady and natural as possible when he realizes that Chuuya is frowning with furrowed brows, looking at his phone. Unsure.

Dazia reaches for his own phone, fingers deceptively steady despite the way his insides are curdling with a sudden jolt of anxiety. His eyes zero in on the top right corner of his phone. No signal. Dazai has been to this event hall countless times in this life and dozens of others—there’s always service throughout the building. 

Unless it’s being jammed, that is.

Dazai’s blood runs cold, gaze dragging from his phone to the door that leads to the hallway connecting to the event hall where you are. He feels as if he’s been doused with icy water and lit on fire all at once. For a second, he doesn’t move—he’s not sure if it’s anxiety or fear, or both, but he knows it’s because you’re out there and Dostoevsky is plotting something while trying to keep him out of the picture in this meeting. 

He should have known better. Mishima had assumed that Dostoevsky wasn’t in the building—he had his three best scouts prowling the whole building trying to place the real leader of the tripartite but had failed. Nabokov had apparently told him that Dostoevsky had to stay back to handle residual business in Russia, a blatant lie, one that has had Mishima on edge all night.

The one with the overcoat. The clown.

Dazai stills as he remembers the white haired man who hung around Dostoevsky in some of the other universes. Not all of the other Dazais encountered him—in fact, Dazai thinks there were only half a dozen other universes where he met the man, he can hardly remember his name, but when he did…

Spatial linking. Of course Mishima’s men hadn’t been able to hunt down Dostoevsky. Dostoevsky would’ve predicted that the Sun and Steel would seek out the mastermind with their scouts. He used the clown to enter the building without anyone knowing after the scouts finished their hunt.

Dazai had missed a critical piece on the board.

Dazai rises to his feet abruptly, mind numb, eyes distant, and lips parted to speak but no words escape them. Tolstoy and Nabokov exchange a sharp, pointed look, pausing in their hostilities, and Dazai knows. He knows.

Dostoevsky is going after you. 

He hears Chuuya and Kouyou calling after him but it sounds like a distant buzz. His throat feels clogged, his heartbeat is erratic and uncontrollable, his ears are ringing. His surroundings are blurry, a part of him doesn’t even know where he is: the event hall, your apartment, in the cafe below the Armed Detective Agency, it’s all blurring together.

This is it.

His vision swims and his head spins. The hallway seems impossibly long, much longer than it was to walk to the room. He can hear Chuuya spitting curses, scrambling out of the room, and he’s sure that his other executives and the other mafiosos aren’t far behind, but Dazai’s mind is on a single track. He doesn’t know how fast he’s moving—fast enough that Chuuya is chasing after him but can’t catch him. Something is heavy and cool in his hand—his gun—numb fingers moving to click the safety off.

This is it.

He might enter that hall and find you dead, slumped over the bar he’d last seen you sitting at, blood splattered across your face. Limp, cold. Just like you were on your bedroom floor. In the booth at the cafe. He’s pulling you from the water. He’s screaming for Yosano when he’s with the Agency. He’s screaming for Mori when he’s with the Mafia. Sometimes he’s alone, and he has no one to call for help, so all he can do is hold you and cry. 

It’s his fault. He knew this would happen from the beginning. He knew that being with you would lead you to the same fate that you’ve met in every other universe because of him. He knew that being with you would be your death sentence, but he couldn’t stop himself. 

His vision swims again, the red and gold patterns on the walls of the event hall are indistinct blobs, he feels someone try to grab his wrist—Chuuya, probably—but Dazai rips himself free and pushes himself into the event hall.

He ignores the eyes on him and the way people all instinctively move away from the sight of him with his gun out, he’s sure he must look deranged but he’s hardly even keeping himself grounded to this reality. Pages pile around him, every single one has variations of the same scene that’s haunted him for almost eight years written on it; one is being written before his eyes, he can see the words appearing on the blank sheet. He needs to find you before it’s complete. He has to stop it.

His eyes cut across the room, toward the bar he’d last seen you at, and you’re there. You’re there. It’s almost enough to make him scramble to put his gun away, cover up his steep spiral of paranoia even if you are looking right in his direction and see the gun in his hand. He can hardly come to terms with the consequences of this, how you’re seeing him right now, because his gaze tunnels right in on the person sitting next to you and his world comes to a halt. 

He lifts the gun. He ignores as people shriek and scramble to the edges of the room. He ignores the look on your face as he moves closer to where you’re sitting with Fyodor Dostoevsky. He ignores the way Chuuya and Kouyou and Piano Man have all skid to a stop somewhere behind him, trying to figure out what to do. Dostoevsky’s hand is mere inches away from brushing against your body, it would only take the slightest movement and you would be dead. It would be a game of who’s faster: Dazai’s trigger finger or Dostoevsky’s ability. Dazai’s always been quick to pull the trigger but now, faced with your life on the line, when he should be at his best because of what’s at risk, he finds himself scared and unsteady. 

He can’t lose you. He can’t watch it happen.

He paces toward you slowly, steadily, he swears each step he takes echoes across the suddenly silent event hall. He doesn’t stop until the muzzle of his gun is pressed against the back of Dostoevsky’s head.

“Stand up.” Dazai’s voice is deceptively cold and steady for the rage and fear that’s clawing at his chest, threatening to take control.

Dostoevsky turns his head to the side to look at Dazai, faint amusement in his eyes. “Are you sure you really want to do this here, Dazai?” 

The mocking lilt his voice takes is almost enough alone for Dazai to pull the trigger. And if that wasn’t, the way Dostoevsky smiles at Dazai like he’s won is certainly enough to push him over the edge.

Before he can, he feels Chuuya grab his bicep hard. 

“You can’t do this here,” he hisses quietly. “If you kill him now on neutral territory, we’ll have all of the mafias in the Eastern Hemisphere coming after you and the government on your ass. You can’t do this here and you can’t do it in public.”

Dazai doesn’t care. He doesn’t care how many mafias come after him for killing on neutral territory when invited as a guest. He doesn’t care that the government will come after him for such a blatant murder. All he cares about is getting Dostoevsky away from you.

“Chuuya is right,” Kouyou murmurs, low enough for only Dazai to overhear. “We can cover this up as is. If you pull the trigger, there’s no hiding what happened here. You know better than this, boy. You won’t be the only person this affects if you do this. Think of her. She will be implicated for coming here with you. Lower the gun and let us handle sweeping this under the rug.”

Dazai can’t even bring himself to look at you. He’s scared of what he might find. But he doesn’t even consider lowering the gun, not until Dostoevsky raises his hands and slips off the bar stool to step away from you. Even when he does, Dazai keeps it trained on him, still tempted to blow his head right off his shoulders.

“I meant no harm,” Dostoevsky says smoothly. “I was intrigued, wanted to know the girl who’s managed to capture your interest. I must say, I see the appeal. Beautiful and intelligent, you have quite the eye, Dazai.”

Dazai’s lips stretch into a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. It’s not kind, and it’s mildly feral, and Dazai’s pretty sure he must look entirely deranged from the way Dostoevsky’s eyes widen in a mixture of surprise and entertainment, just enough to be noticeable.

“If you ever go near her again, I’ll put a bullet through your fucking skull, Dostoevsky.”

He should do it now. He should. Fuck Chuuya and Kouyou’s warnings, he should put a bullet in his head and be done with it, move onto handling Christie so that both of the major threats to your life are gone. But he can’t. If he takes this opportunity now, if he kills Dostoevsky so blatantly on neutral territory, the Pale Flame and Three Deaths will come at him in full force, and Dazai is sure the Red Chamber won’t be far behind them with Cao’s recent interest in expanding his business into Japan. And you’ll be caught in the crossfire of all of it, Dazai has ensured that by bringing you here. Dostoevsky must have accounted for all of this. He knew that Dazai would be put in a situation where either way, whether he kills him or lets him go, he’d be throwing himself onto a blade. 

Is that it? Killing you wasn’t the goal, was it? Exposing Dazai was. Forcing him into this impossible decision.

Did he really just fall into Dostoevsky’s hands so easily? Even with all of the forewarning the other universes have given him?

It’s you. You always make him reckless, his mind is never as sharp whenever you’re involved, muddled with thoughts of you, plagued with spirals of paranoia and anxiety that make him double guess himself. It’s like this in every universe—he becomes stupid, he becomes rash, he becomes careless. It’s you.

You.

Suddenly very hyper aware of your eyes on him, Dazai lowers his gun, gaze turning in your direction. Dostoevsky lets out one last snide comment, something toward you, telling you ‘don’t you see’ but Dazai doesn’t even process it, heart in his throat as he looks at you. He doesn’t know what he expects—fear, betrayal, even anger. He’s not prepared for the emptiness. He can’t read a single emotion on your face, your eyes eerily void of any feeling as you stare at him. 

He says your name quietly. His voice cracks. He should be embarrassed, so many people watching the scene play out, so many of his enemies and allies and subordinates, and he’s staring at you like a lost child with an unsteady voice, but he can’t bring himself to care. The fingers of his free hand are trembling, and the ones wrapped around the grip of his gun are so wound so tight that his knuckles are white. 

You’ve never looked at him like this before. Not in any universe. 

He thinks he might throw up. 

You’ve been mad at him before, scowling at him whenever he distracts you from your work and snarling whenever he makes messes that he never cleans up, but your eyes always stay soft in spite of the venom you spit. He’s seen betrayal on your face a few times before, screaming at him through tears when he got a bit too close to a successful attempt, cursing at him for trying to leave you, but you hold him so gently that it makes up for the harsh words. You’ve been scared of him once, when he lashed out so badly during one of his slumps that he nearly hurt you, but even then, you were more concerned for him then you were scared for yourself, speaking to him softly to settle him down.

He’s never seen this. He wants it to go away. Desperately.

“I’d like to leave,” you finally say after a few moments of silence, and your voice is so vacant of emotion that it leaves him feeling even more sick.

Dazai nods, because he can’t bring himself to speak. 

He holds his hand out for you, waiting for you to take it.

You don’t.

You haven’t spoken a word since the event hall, and Dazai doesn’t know what to do. He used to find peace in silence—for years, he’d become accustomed to it, isolating himself from everyone around him, keeping everyone at arm’s length. The most he ever spoke was a few sentences to give out orders to his executives; his voice had become hoarse and raspy over the years of self-imposed isolation, unused to being utilized. But the past few months with you have utterly obliterated any semblance of comfort Dazai had found in solidarity. 

It’s become entirely intolerable, the silence is making him sick with anxiety; he has hundreds of lifetimes worth of memories with you and he can’t even vaguely predict what to expect from you right now. You’ve been tense and cold since leaving the event hall. Dazai tried to open up a conversation in the car once but found himself promptly ignored. Chuuya tried to say something to you but only received the same cold shoulder. Even Albatross tried to lighten the mood when the four of you got in the car, but all you did was stare out the window with your back to Dazai. 

Now, you’re back up in his penthouse with him. You haven’t sat down. You’ve hardly budged from where you’re standing near the elevator—Dazai wonders if you’re scared of him now, if you want to be as close as possible to the only exit in fear of him lashing out at you. The thought makes him even more nauseous.

He doesn’t even know what to do with himself. He doesn’t want to sit down, he’s uncomfortable standing in the living room, waiting for you to say something, and he can’t bring himself to try to break the silence because if there’s one thing he learned very swiftly, it’s that he can’t handle being ignored by you. He’d prefer anger and hate to the stonewall iciness you’re giving him.

He can’t even fathom what you might be thinking right now. You’re not looking at him. You’re staring at the window that looks over the city, he can see the bright flashing lights from Cosmo World flickering faintly in your eyes. It’s so quiet that he can hear the distant honking of horns, police sirens coming from the streets below. 

He just wants you to say something, do something. Yell at him. Scream at him. Hit him or punch him. Anything is better than this. 

It feels like an eternity before you finally move away from the elevator. You still don’t speak, but Dazai watches raptly as you make your way into the kitchen. You fling open the cabinets, searching for something, and Dazai’s lips part to ask what you’re looking for but he decides against it. You stop with your jerky movements when you catch sight of the numerous bottles of sake Dazai has stored in his cabinets—room temperature, because Dazai can’t stand cold drinks, they make his teeth hurt. He watches you struggle to uncap it and his body itches to move toward you to help but he knows it won’t do any good. It’ll probably just piss you off more.

When you get the cap off, you’re immediately bringing it to your lips. One. Two. Three. Four large gulps before you put the bottle back down on the counter and turn to look at him. The emptiness in your eyes is gone, replaced by something caught between hurt and anger and betrayal. It makes his heart sink, but he thinks it’s preferable to the emptiness.

“You lied to me,” you finally rasp out, shaking your head as you pace behind the counter. There’s a whole length of a room separating the two of you and Dazai longs for your touch but he forces himself to stuff his hands in his pockets and keep still. “You lied to me, Dazai.”

“Osamu,” he corrects quietly without thinking, not liking the switch up. He’d finally gotten you to call him by his given name earlier in the night, he doesn’t want to lose it so quickly.

For the briefest of seconds, the hurt and betrayal in your eyes disappears and only fire rages in them. “Dazai,” you spit out pointedly. 

Dazai almost draws back, not having expected that. In all of the other universes, you’ve always been gentle with him even when you’re livid. You speak his name softly, even with a tight jaw and fisted hands—his given name, you’ve never used his surname against him like this before. Probably because most of the major fights he had with you in those other lives, it was months into the relationship; it’s only been a few weeks in this life so of course-

Dazai realizes, a bit dizzy, that he’s about to lose you.

You found out too soon. You found out through Dostoevsky, through Dazai's own loss of control. You found out in the worst possible way and you found out too soon.

Dazai is about to lose you.

“Okay,” he murmurs, not wanting to test your temper anymore, giving in as a means to try to soothe your anger, regardless of how much it might wound him because being wounded is nothing compared to losing you. “Dazai.”

His compliance seems to do nothing to quell your anger from the way you just scoff and shake your head again, looking away from him. You stare out over the city, dozens of emotions cloud your expression but Dazai still can’t predict what you might do next. He feels out of his depth, in murky waters with an anchor tied to his ankle.

“I knew it, you know?” you finally say quietly. “I knew it from the beginning, honestly, but I kept making excuses for you. I mean, the guns. The secrecy. You weren’t really subtle about it. Did you think I was stupid, or something?” 

“Never,” Dazai says honestly, without hesitation. He sees your gaze flicker down to the ground at his words, but you don’t make any move to speak again so he takes the opportunity to, in hopes that you’ll finally listen. “You’re the smartest woman I know. I-”

You interrupt him with a sharp laugh, it’s loud and almost cruel, and Dazai turns in on himself at the sound of it. He feels small and unsteady, like a child who’s being scolded by a parent. When you look at him again, your eyes are wide and wild, half-crazed in sheer disbelief. You don’t believe him. Of course, you don’t. It’s plainly displayed on your face. And why would you anyway? He’s given you every reason not to. 

“If you think I’m so smart, why didn’t you think I would figure it out?”

He tries to say that he knew you would. That he’s been living in fear for weeks that you’d finally see him for what he is but when he opens his mouth to say it, no words leave him. Like he’s frozen in fear, ice crawling through his veins, stones weighing on his tongue; he can’t respond, and he knows that he’s only condemning himself more. He tries to force something out but he can’t even make the barest hint of a sound. The mindkiller. He’s never responded well to fear, much less when you’re involved. 

You click your tongue, as if to solidify that his silence proves your point, or maybe you know what he can't bring himself to say and you just don't believe him. His stomach churns again, and dread spreads through chest when you say: “If I’m so smart, and I was going to figure it out anyway, why didn’t you just tell me?”

“You would have left.” Dazai is finally able to speak, but he speaks the wrong answer, clearly, from the way you let out another humorless, breathless laugh, eyes wide in disbelief. You look at him like he’s the most audacious man in the entire world. Maybe he is.

“Yeah, I would have,” you agree and Dazai flinches. “Without hesitation, without even looking back. And now, I can’t because you made me fall in love with you without even warning me about what I was getting myself into.”

Dazai’s heart should be leaping through the roof at your confession, but if anything, he feels even worse. His throat feels clogged and his chest feels so heavy. You’ve never regretted falling in love with him before. Not in any lifetime.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes out, because he doesn’t know what else to say. The words are still foreign on his tongue, he doesn’t think he’s ever apologized to someone in this life before the last twenty-four hours.

“No, you’re not,” you say bitterly, looking away. “Isn’t this what you wanted? For me to care so much about you that when you finally tell me who you are and what you do, I won’t be able to leave.”

Dazai stares at you, lost. He remembers how just the other day he was finding comfort in the way you could read him so easily, knowing he didn’t have to speak for you to know what he needed at the moment. He thinks he hates it now, because you’re finally reading deeper into his soul and seeing him for the sick, twisted monster he really is. Just like he feared from day one. Manipulative. Selfish. Undeserving. His fingers tremble in his pockets, nails biting into his palm so deep that he can feel blood trickling down his skin, but not even the stinging pain can distract him from the numbness spreading through him. 

“I didn’t-”

“Didn’t what?” you interrupt him. “You didn’t think I’d be upset? You didn’t think I’d be angry? Or maybe you didn’t think it would happen this soon? Is that it, Dazai? You thought you’d have more time to win me over in hopes that I’d take the news in stride. News flash, Dazai, no amount of time or charm would have made me accept this easily. Accept you easily. How could I ever accept any of this?”

Nausea rises to his throat so suddenly that he almost gags. He feels dizzy, taking a step back so that his back is against the wall, keeping him steady. Your last words echo through his head over and over again, he can’t escape them. The one person who’s always accepted him in every lifetime, the only person he was ever able to find a home in—how could I ever accept you? 

His cheeks feel wet, his eyes are wide as he stares at you. He doesn’t know how to respond to that. He doesn’t even think he could if he knew how to respond to that. His lungs are burning and his throat feels so swollen that even just the thought of trying to speak is painful. 

You let out a sharp breath, caught between a hysterical laugh and a sob as you press your hands to either side of your neck and pace across the kitchen. “What am I supposed to do, Dazai?” you ask, voice hoarse. “What the fuck am I supposed to do?”

He thinks it might be a rhetorical question, but he still forces out: “Don’t leave me.”

You scoff again, louder and harsher this time. Dazai’s eyes flutter shut as if to futilely minimize the blow. “I wish leaving you was still an option for me.”

Oh. He’s going to throw up. 

He wants to blame it on the alcohol he drank earlier in the night. He wants to blame it on the stress of the past few weeks. He wants to blame it on anything but this, even though he knows damn well that this conversation is what triggered the bile that rises to his throat. He forces himself to move, nearly tripping over his feet to get to the bathroom because he doesn’t want you to see him vomiting up his guts.

He hardly makes it to the toilet, crashing to his knees and clutching at the seat as he dry heaves. Nothing comes up—he hasn’t eaten enough the past few days to have anything solid in him, too busy with preparations—but he can’t stop gagging, eyes stinging with tears and throat burning. He doesn’t know how long he stays crumpled at the toilet, losing track of time entirely, a part of him just wants to stay there forever so he doesn’t have to go back out and face you. 

Evidently, he doesn’t have to go back out and face you because you come to him. 

He’s gagging again when he feels your hand brush his back, hesitantly at first and then firmly. Your touch is warm, and Dazai thinks he must look pathetic as he turns his head to the side to look at you. Your expression isn’t as harsh now, your eyes are still conflicted but your face is softer. After a moment, you take a seat on the floor next to him—you don’t say anything, but you let out a soft puff of air as you slip your arm around his shoulders once he stops heaving. 

He crumbles into your chest, body collapsing against yours. You wrap your arms around him, and at once, the numbness starts to fade away. His fingers clutch at your dress desperately, afraid that you’re going to disappear, but you only hold him tighter. You bury your face in his hair, forehead pressed to the top of his head.

“You’re so unfair, Osamu.” Your voice cracks, you’ve lost all of your fire, but Dazai finds no solace in it.

“I know,” he croaks out, throat scratchy and voice wavering. “I know.”

And then words are spilling from his lips before he can stop them, jumbled and hardly intelligible and he’s not even sure that you’re understanding what he’s saying but he can’t stop himself: “I tried. I tried to stay away, I tried so hard, you don’t understand. I knew it would turn out like this, I knew I would ruin you so I tried to stay away, but I’m selfish. I’m so selfish, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I knew better, I’m going to-you’re going to-”

The panic is returning, the words he wants to say but can’t push out are too damning: I’m going to get you killed. You’re going to die because of me. Dazai is breathing but the air isn’t getting to his lungs, his chest burns, and now even with your arms around him, the numbness is returning. It’s rapid now, spreading from his chest to his arms, down his abdomen to his legs; it’s going to consume him entirely, he can feel it, he can-

Oh.

Your lips press to his. Tilting his head back to angle his face up toward you, you lean down and press your lips against his, swallowing his words, his air, his panic. One of your hands cup his cheek while the other cradles the back of his head, Dazai can hardly kiss you back, his lips feel cold and prickly, but his eyes flutter shut as your lips move slowly and carefully against his.

Not for the first time, he thinks that he doesn’t deserve this. Especially not now. He tastes something wet and salty against his lips—he doesn’t know if you’re the one crying, or if he is, and he doesn’t want to know, so he forces himself to move. His arm feels heavy and clunky, and his fingers feel stiff, but he’s able to bring them up to your face, palms cupping your cheeks as the tips of his fingers tangle into your hair. He kisses you until his lungs are screaming for air, and even as he starts to feel lightheaded, he kisses you still, because your lips are the only thing able to push away the numbness overwhelming him. 

When you break away from him, you keep your foreheads pressed together, nose nudging against his. You share the same thin sliver of air and Dazai feels dizzy, he wants to kiss you again but he doesn’t think he’s capable of moving yet, so he only stays crumbled in your arms, waiting for you to grace him with your lips again. 

“I wish I still had the chance to be a better man,” Dazai says hoarsely, honestly, gaze searching yours desperately. “I would be. For you.”

Please believe me, he thinks to himself helplessly, because it’s the truth. He would try to be. For your sake. He might fail, he might be too far gone, his soul corrupted beyond salvation and his blood black beyond purification, but he would try. He would try so hard for you. But he can’t, not in this lifetime, not without risking everything he’s strove to protect since coming in contact with the Book. He has to stay the criminal, the monster, the demon so that you and Odasaku can live out your lives here. Until Dostoevsky, Christie, and any other person that could turn out to be a threat to either of you are killed, Dazai has to keep playing this role. He has to. 

You don’t respond. Dazai thinks it’s because you don’t believe him and it makes him feel sick again. His lips part to repeat himself but you only press yours against his, as if to silence him. 

You don’t believe him, the kiss confirms it, and his heart sinks but he can’t even bring himself to protest, to insist that it’s true. Instead, he decides if he can’t prove it through his words, he’ll prove it through his actions. Even though his limbs still feel leaden and clumsy, he forces himself into a better position, sitting up a bit more and bringing both of his hands up to cup your cheeks. He tilts your head back, leaning into you and slowly pressing you back against the floor and distantly Dazai recognizes that this is not the place for this but the thought is only fleeting, he’s too lost in the feeling of your lips against his and your body pressed to him.

And you let him ease you back against the floor. You let him tilt your head back and when his tongue darts out to swipe against your bottom lip, you part your lips for him. He doesn’t have to knock your knees apart, because you spread them just enough for him to slot his hips between them to keep your bodies flush. He wonders if you can feel how clunky his movements are—his fingers still feel heavy against your face and he can hardly hold himself up above you. He hopes he’s not crushing you with his weight, he might be, but you don’t seem to care. 

He pulls back to ask if you’re okay with this but you chase his lips and he lets out a soft, muffled noise when you tug gently at his bottom lip and bring your free hand up to cup the back of his head, fingers tangling with his hair, pulling him back down to you. You drag your lips from his to slide them down his neck to the edge of his bandages. He twitches a bit at the feeling, wondering if you’re going to ask to take them off, but instead, you just trail your lips back upward, nipping at his jaw, and he shudders.

And then he finally hesitates, pulling away and not letting you chase after this time. He weighs his options in his head anxiously. He feels like he should do something, that he owes something—a lowering of a mask, a show of vulnerability, you’re entitled to at least that much after everything he’s done. Aren't you?

You give him a curious look and he tries to respond—he does, his lips part for him to speak but nothing leaves them. He swallows thickly, eyes fluttering shut as he braces himself before trying again, bringing one of his hands to yours and wrapping his fingers around it gently, lifting it from his chest to the bandages covering the left side of his face.

“Take them off,” he tells you, voice hoarse and shakier than he would have liked.

Your eyes widen, and he shudders a bit when your fingers smooth against the bandages, uncertain. “Are you sure?” you ask him softly, bringing your other hand to his opposite cheek, cupping his face in your hands again, eyes searching to make sure he means it.

Is he sure? Dazai doesn’t know. He can’t speak again as he stares down at you; a part of him is nervous, and he doesn’t even understand why. You already know who he is, what he is, but a part of him still fears that once you actually see him, something will change. And it’s ridiculous, so many other universes you’ve seen him without his bandages and you’ve never made him feel uncomfortable about it. But you’ve also never used his surname against him during an argument in the other universes, you’ve never regretted loving him, and you’ve certainly never wished you could leave him. 

So, yeah, he thinks the anxiety of you removing his bandages and then seeing him in a different light might be more of a possibility in this universe than any other one. His body is more covered in scars than not, and he knows it’s not attractive; he thinks if he sees your expression shift in a negative way when the bandages come off, it might shatter him entirely.

Just the face bandages then, he bargains with himself, swallowing thickly as he forces himself to nod. You sit up from where you’re still laying back against the tiles, propping yourself on your knees to shift closer to him. 

Dazai thinks his heart might be in his throat when he feels your fingers unclip the clasp holding the bandages together around the left side of his face, eyes fluttering shut as you slowly unwind them from around his head. He isn’t sure why he’s so nervous for this part—there are no scars on his face, but he still feels distinctly vulnerable, like he’s giving you a window into himself that might reveal more than he means to. He can barely breathe as he feels the last of the bandages fall to the floor, he can hear you push them to the side. 

Still, he keeps his eyes shut, counting each second that passes. He’s anxious, can’t even bring himself to look at you until you cup his cheeks again. 

“Look at me,” you say quietly.

Dazai does as you ask, he always does. He doesn’t know what he expects when he opens his eyes to meet your gaze; he prepares himself for the worst, for a twisted expression or thinly veiled pity, but he finds none of it. Rather, your eyes are soft and fond, tracing over his face, looking between each of his. He can feel the pads of your fingers gently brushing over his cheekbones, tracing absent patterns.

“You’re so handsome, Osamu,” you whisper, one of your hands sliding behind his head, intertwining with his hair. “Why do you wear them?” 

Dazai doesn’t know how to answer that. His throat feels swollen at your words, eyes a bit misty and fingers trembling against your thighs. Instead, he breathes out, “Kiss me.”

And you do. 

God, when you kiss him again, it’s so intense that it has his head spinning. He doesn’t know how long he sits there kissing you, back against the cabinets with you half in his lap. It could be a few seconds, or a few minutes, or a few hours—he has no concept of time whenever his lips are against yours. It’s only when you press your hand against his shoulder, murmuring for him to get up, that he finally pulls himself away from you.

Dazai forces himself to push up to his feet—it’s much more difficult than he thought it would be, nearly tripping over his own feet, but you follow him up to your feet, steadying him when he almost tumbles over. You bring your hand up to rest against his cheek, fingers gently toying with the edges of his hair. He leans into your touch, eyes fluttering shut for just a moment before he forces himself to look you in the eye. 

“You’re so frustrating,” you say softly, but all of the fire is gone, replaced by that same soft look you’ve directed toward him—not him—hundreds of times before. “You are so frustrating, Osamu.”

His throat feels tight again, the sound of his name on your lips causing a wave of warmth to spread through him, the numbness slowly subsiding.

“I know,” he whispers, swallowing thickly, and you sigh, gaze averting to the side for a moment before you look back at him. He still can’t fathom what you might be thinking and it scares him.

But then you kiss him again, your other hand coming up to his other cheek and his hands fly to your waist, holding you close. You walk him backward, out of the bathroom and into the hallway. His back hits the wall and you press your body close to his, and this time it’s you whose tongue is darting out to brush his bottom lip, urging him to part his lips for you. He does, and he thinks he might be in heaven when he feels your tongue dip into his mouth, sliding against his tongue. His eyes flutter shut, rolling back just a bit when you trace the back of his teeth with your tongue before sucking gently on his bottom lip.

Your hands slide down from his face to his chest, over his jacket, down to his waist. Your fingers hook in his belt loops and Dazai groans as your lips ghost from his down to his jaw, breath shaky as trail slow, wet kisses to the sensitive spot behind his ear. He can hardly do anything but follow along as you guide him from where he’s been backed against the wall into his bedroom, dazed and entirely consumed by your touch. His head already feels a bit fuzzy, breath hitching as your teeth graze his pulse point, kissing down to the edge of his bandages and then across his throat.

He barely even knows where he is until he feels the back of his knees hit his bed and he topples backward until he’s laying flat on it. His chest is heaving, head dizzy and breath shaky as you straddle his waist. You don’t kiss him again and Dazai wants to drag you down for another but he can’t even bring himself to move. His body refuses to cooperate, nervous that he’s going to make the wrong move.

“Do you want this?” you finally ask after a moment, voice raspy as one of your hands squeeze his gently, as if to get his attention. 

Dazai’s brows furrow a bit, lips parting to respond but for a second, no words leave them. You wait with the patience of a saint as Dazai tries to process what you’re asking and respond to it. After what feels like an eternity, he nods once. Of course, he wants it. You search his eyes as if to make sure he’s not just agreeing to agree, and once you’re satisfied, you continue you with: 

“And do you trust me?” you ask softly, your gaze gentle as it searches his face for the next answer.

Dazai doesn’t hesitate this time, and he speaks as he breathes out, “With everything.”

He can’t tell what you’re thinking, but your expression is still soft and your touch is still gentle as you run your thumb over his knuckles. Dazai doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the gentleness you show him. You lift your hand to cup his cheek and he leans into your touch, throat spasming beneath his bandages as he waits for you to say something. 

“Let me take the lead then,” you say quietly, his eyes widen a bit at your words. “I want to try something.”

He watches you carefully for a moment, guarded and studying you. He thinks this might be another first, and the thought alone makes him feel a bit giddy because he can’t recall any other life where you’ve ever been the one to take the lead like this, especially the first time the two of you sleep together. You look a bit anxious the longer he goes without responding, so he nods and says, “Okay.”

He’s pliant beneath your touch as you lean down to press your lips against his; he lets out a soft, muffled noise when he feels your hips shift, unintentionally grinding down a bit on his straining cock. He’s more hesitant this time in the way his lips move against yours, unsure of what to do with himself. His fingers twitch from where they're resting on the bed, itching to grab your hips but not wanting to make the wrong move.

This has happened every time one of you tries to take the next step, either he gets interrupted or he ends up getting cold feet because he’s scared of doing the wrong thing and making you uncomfortable. And it’s ridiculous because Dazai has so many memories, he should know at least vaguely what you like and what you don’t like but he thinks having the memories are a double-edged sword because he overwhelms himself if what ifs: what if he assumes you like something and you end up not liking it in this universe, what if he does something that you only liked after the two of you have been together for a while and you’re uncomfortable with him doing it because you’re not as comfortable with him. Maybe Dazai is just overthinking it all but how can he not when you’re involved. He wants everything to be perfect for you. 

“Is this okay?” you whisper, separating your lips from his just enough for him to answer your question. Your breath mingles with his and Dazai can hardly think straight; it’s hot, dizzying, there’s something so intimate about it that it makes his body fuzzy.

“Yeah,” he says, eyelashes fluttering as he looks up at you. “It’s okay.”

You kiss him again. His lips move against yours desperately, needy, he’d be embarrassed if you weren’t matching his energy, but you are. He can feel your fingers tugging at his hair, your hips grinding down against his. Every time you start to pull away, he lifts his head from where it’s laying flush against the pillows, chasing your lips. 

He needs you. His hands slide from your thighs to your waist, keeping your body pressed to his. He’s needed you since the day he came in contact with the Book and learned about you, since the day he met you at the club, maybe even since the day he was born even if he hadn’t known it at the time. He thinks his entire life has led to this, to the two of you being together; your souls have been entangled since the moment you were born and he isn’t sure how he ever thought a life without you was possible. 

“I need you,” he gasps against your lips, hips jerking up just a bit to try to alleviate the pressure building in his lower abdomen, desperate to reach down and unbutton his slacks, but wanting you to make the first move.

Whatever nerves that have made him get cold feet all of the other times the two of you have tried to take the next stop are long gone. You don’t give him any time to wonder if he’s doing the wrong thing—the fingers of one of your hands intertwining with his dark locks, just tight enough to make him hiss into your mouth, eyes rolling back at the pleasant sting. Your other hand slides across his chest, even through his dress shirt, your fingertips seem to scorch through to his skin, leaving his body tingling everywhere you touch.

“You have me,” you tell him, breathless, and Dazai can’t bite back the noise that slips from his lips, wanton and obscene, borderline pornographic—if he was any more coherent, he might be embarrassed but he can’t find it in him. Not when he’s finally getting what he’s wanted after all of this time. 

His hands fly down to his slacks, he fumbles with the button and zipper before yanking them down just enough to free his cock and he watches as you sit back on his thighs, eyes wide and lips parted as your gaze focuses in on his cock, watching as the leaking precum dribbles down his length, alongside the vein running along the underside of his cock. 

“Please,” he breathes out, fingers biting into your thighs as he bunches your dress up to your hips, another low moan spilling from his lips just at the thought of what’s about to happen, lashes fluttering.

You don’t even take off your panties, clearly driven by the same desperation that he is as you slide them to the side and position yourself above his cock and Dazai gnaws at his bottom lip when he feels the tip pressing against your entrance. He can feel how wet you are already, so drenched that your slick is dripping down the length of his cock. His hips stutter up instinctively, but instead of pushing inside, his cock slides between your folds and he whimpers, arm flying to cover the lower half of his face. You don’t let him, fingers wrapping around his wrist to pull his arm from his face and pin it to the mattress above him.

“Don’t hide yourself,” you say softly.

Dazai thinks there must be stars in his eyes as he looks up at you. You’re so beautiful, lips parted as you pant softly, an adoring expression on your face as you look down at him. He loves you. He loves you, god, he loves you more than he’s ever loved anything in his life; he thinks that nothing the other Dazais ever felt for any of the other yous could ever compare to how he feels for you.

When his tip starts to push into your tight hole, all he can let out is another loud, lewd noise; his head falls back against the pillows. His ears are ringing, but distantly, he can hear you gasp. His vision is blurry as he forces himself to look up at you but Dazai thinks you look otherworldly with your head tilted back as his cock starts to stretch you out, lips swollen and wet from the kisses you’d shared. He thinks he must look insane, pupils blown wide and eyes wild as he tries to focus on the sight of you. All of the clever wheels that usually turn within his mind are crumbling.

His fingertips leave crescents in your thighs as you sink down on his cock slowly—too slow, it leaves his head dizzy as your warmth slowly envelops his length. He’s imagined this so many times before. Dozens. Hundreds. He has so many memories of the feeling of your body flush to his, thighs over his shoulders as he fucks you deep and slow, swallowing your moans, but he thinks that nothing compares to this, the sight of you above him, watching your body tremble and face shift as his cock stretches you out. He barely refrains from letting out a string of strangled curses, barely able to hold his eyes open to watch you. 

You give yourself a moment to adjust, and when you do, you look down at Dazai. He thinks he must look a mess—chest heaving, breath erratic, eyes heavy and lidded and entirely glazed over—but he doesn’t care, not with the way your hand slides up his abdomen, fingers tracing patterns along the bandages covering his body. You look beautiful—you always look beautiful—but you look extra beautiful right now, and he thinks he could stare at you forever and never tire of it. 

Experimentally, you roll your hips—it’s still slow, agonizingly slow—and Dazai throws his head back, another obscene moan spilling from  his lips.

“Fuck,” he gasps, his fingers falling from your thighs to twist the sheets below him, knuckles white. “Feels so good. So good.”

You let out a hum that’s caught between a moan and agreement as you continue the slow rolls of your hips, hands sliding up and down his abdomen in a way that’s deceptively innocent and soothing compared to how his cock is dragging along your walls. His body shudders at the feeling of it, heat pooling in his abdomen so quickly that it has his whole body tensing as he tries to push it away. 

“You’re so perfect.” Words spill from his lips, more of a babble than anything else as you lean down to ghost your lips over his jaw, nibbling over the bandages covering his Adam’s apple. It bobs beneath your teeth as he lets out another shaky noise. “S’like you’re made for me. I’d do anything for you. Anything. You know that, right? Anything you want, it’s yours.”

He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, clawing at the sheets and occasionally reaching for your thighs, and he doesn’t know what to do with his body, hips jerking up at an erratic pace, like he’s trying to meet your pace but his body simply can’t match the slow rolls of your hips, desperate for more. He doesn’t know how you’re so put together—maybe you’re not, he can see through a blurry vision how your lashes are fluttering with each roll of your hips, breath shaky, but you’re just not as far gone as he already is.

“Anything?” you murmur, and he can feel your lips curve up against his neck.

“Anything.” His breath hitches, fingers reaching for your hips as he rocks his up into you, a desperate attempt to get you to pick up the pace. “‘d give you the whole world, burn it for you, anything you want, I’d give it to you.”

His hands slide up from your thighs to your waist as you lean down to press your lips against his in a deceptively innocent kiss. He tries to chase your lips as you straighten up but you don’t let him, one of your hands curling around his throat—not choking him, but firm enough that it goes right to his cock, lips parting in a silent moan—while the other braces back on his thigh.

He thinks that nothing could have prepared him for the feeling of you picking up the pace. His breath hitches, he chokes over a moan, stars sparkle in his vision as the tip of his cock presses deep inside of you. You sigh out his name and Dazai thinks this might be the closest he ever gets to heaven: you on top of him, cock buried to the hilt in your cunt, the sight of your blissed out face above him as his head spins. 

“Oh, fuck,” Dazai cries out, back arching and hand flying to cover his face again but the hand you have on his thigh flies forward to snatch his wrist before he can, pinning it back above his head. Dazai’s eyes roll back, you’re leaning over him entirely now, leaning most of your weight on the hand that’s pinning his wrist but the new angle adds pressure onto how you’re squeezing his neck, paring his airways just enough to make his lungs burn. “More. Faster, fuck, I-ah-”

His voice falls off into another moan, head falling to the side to press his cheek against the pillow. He thinks drool is starting to pool at the corner of his lips but he doesn’t care, he can’t even think at this point, too lost in the lewd sound of skin-on-skin, the sloppiness of his cock fucking deep in your cunt, your soft moans and gasps, lost in the feeling of your tight walls clamping down on his cock, the warmth, the wetness, your fingers digging into his wrist and the sides of his neck. He wants to tell you that he needs more but the words are garbled, entirely unintelligible. 

He forces his eyes back open, feeling the tears spilling over his cheeks just from the intensity of it all, the intensity of you. You’re gentle with him even when your hand is wrapped around his throat and his cock is splitting you open—he can feel the soothing circles you rub with your thumb, he can see the way you’re searching his face to make sure he’s okay. Dazai is just so overwhelmed that he can’t stop the way his next moan breaks into a sob; acutely realizing just how deprived he’d been of any type of care or love before meeting you, and forcibly coming to terms with the fact that he is never going to be able to go without this again, without you again. He’d known it to some extent before this, the thought of losing you and the light you bring him has made his stomach churn violently but this…

He’s torn from his thoughts when you suddenly stop the rolls of your hips, halting the spreading heat in his lower abdomen desperately. The noise that escapes him is something caught between distress and betrayal, dark eyes wide as he looks up at you questioningly, but the expression on your face makes his breath catch. Your hand slides up from his throat to cup his cheek, your other hand releasing his wrist so that you can hold his face between your hands, thumbs wiping away the tears spilling over his cheeks.

Distantly, Dazai recognizes that he’s still choking over sobs and that’s probably why you’ve stopped and that only rips his chest apart more because of course, you’re still putting him above you—even when you’re mad, even when you’ve just fought, when he’s betrayed you in a way that should be unforgivable, you’re still kissing away his tears and putting aside your own needs to take care of him

He doesn’t deserve you. Not in any universe, but especially not in this one.

He thinks he could stay here for eternity. Fuck the rest of the world. Fuck the Port Mafia. Fuck his plan. He just wants to stay here with you, your lips brushing his, sharing the same sliver of air. He leans into your touch, groaning against your lips when he feels your walls spasm around him.

“You’re beautiful,” he breathes out, unsure if you can even understand him. “You’re so-”

His words fall off into another moan, and he can’t control his hips as they thrust up sharply against yours, another string of incoherent curses escaping his hips as your breath catches and you straighten back up, head falling back as you gasp his name.

Your nails dig crescents into his upper thighs through his bandages as you brace yourself back against them. You move your hips again—faster, this time, harder, and Dazai thinks his head is in the clouds. He’s so deep inside of you that he can feel everything, jaw falling slack as heat spreads through his body too rapidly for him to get control over. He wants to throw a hand over his mouth to muffle the lewd, pitched moans spilling from his lips but he can’t drag his hands from where they’re clawing at your hips, desperately trying to help you meet him with each thrust.

“I-hah-shit, I’m gonna-fuck-”

He slurs out your name and several obscenities, trying to warn you that he’s going to cum when he feels his cock twitching inside of you and his abdomen tensing, but you only lean down to press a lingering kiss to the corner of his lips and Dazai is gone. He wants to watch you, he tries, but he can’t hold his eyes open, they’re half-rolled back as he chokes over moans of your name, hips stilling as he cums deep inside of you. His body twitches, expression twisted as he presses his head so hard into the pillow that he thinks he might permanently indent it. 

His head is spinning, lungs burning, sweat beading at his forehead and hair matted to his face—he thinks he’s never cum so hard in his entire life; all of the nights he spent alone, desperately trying to fuck his hand to the thought of you in attempts to mimic how you’ve made all the other Dazais feel, to give himself some semblance of the pleasure you’ve brought him in other lives to hold him over on particularly lonely nights, they’ve never felt like this.

You don’t stop, even as he squirms and lets out jumbled pleas beneath you, body shuddering at the overstimulation but you’re too lost in chasing your own high now. He spasms beneath you, nails digging into your thigh as you fuck his cum deeper inside of you, bouncing on his cock desperately. He doesn’t care that the sensitivity is pushing his body to the brink, letting you use him however you want if it means he gets to see you like this. 

Dazai’s head feels light, pins and needles pricking his body—he thinks he might pass out but he forces himself to hold on, enraptured by the sight of you on top of him with your eyes half-rolled back, lips parted and throat bared to him. Your tits are half-spilling out over the low-cut of your dress and Dazai thinks you’re fucking divine. The only holy thing in this godless world. He wants to spend the rest of his life worshiping you.

“I’m gonna-” you gasp, head falling backward as one final roll of your hips that has your clit grinding against his pelvic bone sends you spiraling over the edge. 

Dazai wants to sear the image of you behind his eyelids, watching as your nails drag against his thighs, drawing red lines even through the bandages, back arching, head tossed back—your body is trembling violently as you cum on his cock, expression twisted and entirely blissed out, sobbing over his name. He chokes and gasps at the feeling of your cunt tightening around his sensitive cock again, jaw tight and spots dancing in his vision as he’s so abruptly pushed over the edge a second time, the coil in his abdomen tightening and snapping all within the span of a few seconds.

He’s still reeling when he feels you slump forward onto his chest, burying your face in the crook of his neck, shivering in the aftershocks of your orgasm. He’s only half aware as he instinctively brings his hands up to rest on your hips, rubbing soft circles of your hip bones to try to soothe you. 

He shudders when you press a kiss to his neck right at the edge of his bandages, and then tilt your head up to press another on his jaw. One of your hands comes up to caress the back of his head, fingers carding through the dark locks in a way that has his eyes drooping shut. 

“We’re not done with this conversation,” you finally say after a few moments of silence, voice soft, breaking the silence. Dazai stiffens a bit, lips parting to respond but no words leave them. “... but let’s just lay like this for a while first, okay?”

He lets out a shaky breath, still not entirely convinced that he’s not going to lose you, so he lets his eyes flutter shut as he nods. He may as well bask in this for as long as he can, and if you notice the way his fingers dig just a little deeper into your skin after your words process, you don’t mention it. 

“Yeah,” he murmurs, “okay.”

Dazai wakes up the next morning and you’re nowhere to be seen. The bed is frighteningly cold next to him and his heart is instantly in his throat. He doesn’t waste a second before he’s sitting up in bed, looking around, eyes wild and heart racing. He doesn’t settle down, not until his eyes fall upon where you’re sitting curled up on the chair of the desk he never uses, eyes trained on the dark clouds outside the window, the beauty of the sunrise wilted by a morning storm.

“His intention was to make me leave you.” You’re not looking at him, but you must have heard him sit up. “Fyodor Dostoevsky. The things he told me, they were to make me leave you.”

Dazai doesn’t move an inch, throat swelling. He forces himself to ask, “What did he tell you?”

He isn’t sure if he wants to know.

“It doesn’t matter,” you say—Dazai thinks that it definitely does, but he bites back the questions that rise to his tongue because you’re clearly not about to budge on your answer. “Who is he?”

“A monster,” Dazai bites out, bitterness seeping into his tone as he leans back against the headboard, eyes still trained on where you’re curled on his chair, gaze distant. “You have to stay away from him.”

“Well, I didn’t intend on seeking him out,” you say it so dryly that Dazai nearly finds humor in it. Nearly. The smile that rises to his lips is mirthless at best. You turn to look at him, finally, and Dazai finds only cool indifference on your face; the fondness, the softness, the gentleness from last night are all gone. He wonders if you regret it, but he doesn’t let that thought linger, it’ll only make him sick. “... He doesn’t seem like the type to give up.”

“He never is,” Dazai murmurs, ignoring the brief, questioning look you direct toward him, mind drifting off to all of the Russian’s incessant attempts to take you from him in all of the other universes. “Did he tell you what his plan was?”

Dazai doubts it, but maybe there was something he said to you that shed some light to it.

“He didn’t have to,” you say quietly. “He wants Yokohama, for whatever reason—couldn’t figure that out, I think he’s looking for something—and clearly, he has to get through you to get it. He thinks the best way of getting through you is by taking me away from you first. That’s what I’d gathered from how he was talking at least, what he was saying about you, the way he was phrasing it. I’d put together enough on my own during the night to fill in the blanks. He told me things about what you’d done as… what you’d done as boss of the Port Mafia—things you’ve done to enemies… to allies. He told me that I’d see the real you as soon as you realize that the meeting he set up was a farce; that the mask you put up would crumble and I would see you for the demon that you are.”

Dazai doesn’t respond, jaw tight as he averts his gaze to the window—he’d played right into Dostoevsky’s hands. He can hardly bring himself to look at you; he wonders if you do see him differently now that the cloud from the night before has worn off, but he can’t bring himself to ask. Now’s not the time anyway, there are more pressing matters.

“... He’ll come after me again, won’t he?” you ask quietly. “Getting me to leave you willingly didn’t work. If he’s so set on me being the trigger to your downfall, then he’ll come after me again.”

He would. As he always has. Of course, Dostoevsky would try to get to him through you, he’s tried it in every universe, and Dazai hadn’t been careful enough. He hadn’t been smart enough. He’d known this was going to happen and was still arrogant enough to believe he could somehow prevent it. He was a fool, and he was a fool at the cost of your safety. He doesn’t know how to respond to you, he doesn’t want to confirm your suspicions, he doesn’t want to admit that this is all his fault, that he knew this would happen and was selfish enough to pursue you anyway.

“... I’m scared, Osamu,” you finally say quietly, and you suddenly look a lot smaller from where you’re sitting on his desk chair, hunched over with your knees tucked to your chest. “I’m really scared.”

Dazai’s heart claws up to his throat and he pushes himself out of bed, still dressed haphazardly in his suit from the night before. He makes his way over to you and kneels in front of you, hands curling around your ankles as he looks up at you.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he tells you, voice a bit more raspier than he intended for it to come across as. “I don’t care what I have to do to ensure it, how low I have to stoop. I will not let anything happen to you, do you understand?”

Your eyes meet his, and he can’t help but notice that doubt still riddles your gaze as you search his face, as if you want to believe him but can’t bring yourself to. A pit starts to grow in his stomach, wide and gaping as he realizes that this is all really about to happen, and one mistake on his part could lead you to the same fate you’ve met in so many other worlds because of him.

Finally, the doubt slowly clears as you let out a soft breath, nodding, and Dazai inhales sharply, laying his forehead against your shin as he lets his eyes slide shut.

He won’t let it happen. Not again. 

again there was NO plot development in the smut - you guys didn't miss out on anything, pinky swear. i restructured the scene to fit the only notable scene (bandage removal) into the part before the smut, so if that felt a little forced, that was why </3 it wasn't supposed to be there. i was struggling trying to figure out how to move it upward a bit. the only arguable "plot" development was dazai letting go of his control freakiness to let her take the lead

[violentdelights-violentendss]

Could u do a scenario based around that one tiktok prank of wearing a towel in front of your s/o then pretending u open it in front of the camera while ur filming a tiktok ? with logan pls ?

Heyyyy! Of course! Someone else also requested this in the comments!!! Please request a thousand more things!!

•

Pranking Logan By Pretending to Flash the Camera.

Pairing: Fem!Mutant Reader x Logan Howlett

Synopsis: You decide to prank your boyfriend by pretending to flash the camera.

You lunged towards Logan, avoiding his punch. You pushed yourself with your super speed as you twirled behind him, trying to surprise him. Your boyfriend, however, knew you too well, expecting your move and throwing out an arm to stop you. Logan knocked the breath from your stomach, slowing you down enough for him to grab your waist and slam you against the tatami mats in the training room. You grunted as Logan hovered over you, holding you still with his right arm on your shoulder. “Got you, princess.” He grinned proudly, the drops of sweat gliding down his skin, disappearing in the neckline of his wife beater.

You closed your eyes: You were truly spent, having been sparring with him for the past hour. Exhaustion was pulling you closer towards the comfortable tatami mats, calling you to accept the defeat. But the glint of smugness present in Logan's face irked you, pushing you to collect the little droplets of strength that stagnated in your limbs. You, gently, twisted Logan's wrist, making him lose his only support. He fell to the floor, moving his arm to catch you, but he was too slow, his hand closing around the air where you had been a few seconds before. You landed your hands on Logan's hips, turning him around and pushing him down on the ground. He grunted, flinching in pain when you jumped on his lap. “I…got you!” You said, collapsing into his chest. Logan welcomed you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders.

"You sure did, princess." He complimented, sliding his hand down your body and giving a slight squeeze to your ass. You only managed to roll your eyes back at him teasingly, too spent to react. You guys laid together in silence for a few moments, just listening to your heartbeats slowly turn from erratic to frantic, as you calmed down, uncaring, or rather almost enjoying, the feel of your sweat mingling together.

“We should go shower, baby." Logan said, gently placing you on the tatami next to him. You had been with him so long it didn't even surprise you with what ease he picked you up, even after such an intense training session.

“We really should. I think I could fill up the pool with the amount of sweat I currently have on my body.”

“That is a horrifying image.” Logan chuckled, as he grabbed your outstretched hand and pulled you up from the ground.

“I'm so tired!" You yawned, rubbing your eyes. "How do you manage to predict my moves every single time." You asked, feeling the comfortable weight of Logan's arm slung around your shoulder.

"You're easy to predict." He said simply, shrugging his shoulders. You slapped his chest, and Logan pretended to grimace in pain. "Kidding, love. I just know you." You smiled as you pressed the button to open the doors of the male changing room. Theoretically, you should be going to the female one next door, but it was 2 in the morning: you knew no one would be there, and you wanted to be with your boyfriend. Logan thought the same thing, not even bothering to comment on the situation.

As you walked inside, you grabbed your phone from Logan's duffel bag. "Imma go pee real quick." You said, heading to the bathroom. Logan grunted in response.

You skipped to the bathroom, quickly doing your business. You washed your hands, deciding to doom scroll for a few seconds on TikTok. Just as you were about to lock your phone, a couple prank video stopped your thumb from hitting the lock button. You watched as a woman opened her towel, showing the viewers how she was wearing short clothes underneath her towel, making it seem she was naked underneath. She then waltzed in front of her unsuspecting boyfriend, pretending to dance and then opened her towel towards the camera, leading the boyfriend to think she was flashing the camera. He reacted quickly, jumping in front of her, and flailing his arms.

You glanced at your outfit, and quickly assessed you could pull off the prank just fine. Did you have any reason to do this? Absolutely not, but it was fun, and you loved messing around with your grumpy little Wolverine. You grabbed a folded towel from the shelves, thanking Professor X for always providing them. You unzipped your workout jacket, remaining in your tube top, thankful you had decided to wear it for the day. You glanced down towards your leggings and shorts combo, slipping both off, only putting the shorts back on. You grabbed the towel resting on the counter, wrapping it around you. You smiled: you really looked as if you were wearing nothing underneath.

You hastily tightened the towel, scrunching up your discarded pieces of clothing in your hands to render them a confused clump of black fabric, not letting Logan realize you were still wearing a few things. You walked out, throwing the clothes on the bench, right next to Logan who was pulling off his shirt. You almost drooled, shaking your head to remain focused.

“Logan?” You called tentatively, already placing the phone on the bench in front of you. “Before we shower wanna do a TikTok trend with me?” You asked, twirling your fingers.

Logan looked at you, wife-beater still in hand, his trademark raised eyebrow adorning his face. “I’m not so sure…I’m not as up to date with these things as you are. I am 200 years old after all.”

“I know you don’t feel exactly comfortable, and that’s why I don’t ask you often.” You said, looking at him with your puppy dog eyes.

He threw his head back, knowing exactly what you were doing. “The things I do for you.” He slapped his thighs, standing up in all his shirtless glory. “Fine, doll. Do your worst. Tell me what I have to do.” You squealed happily.

“Okay so, we just have to dance to this song about loving your partner.” Logan smiled tenderly. “And then right before the beat drops you kiss me.” You said, knowing the lie was shitty but heavily, oh so heavily, relying on Logan’s absolute ignorance on social media.

“Dancing,” he grunted. “Me?” He pointed his finger at himself.

You patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry baby, just move your hips like you would have a few decades ago.” You said, as you pressed the 10 second count down, pulling Logan by the arm to be in frame.

“I didn’t dance a few decades ago.” He grunted, standing next to you. The countdown reached one, and the music started blasting. You danced happily, watching Logan who stiffly tried to dance as well. He was basically just hoping from foot to foot, but that was okay: he was trying. The beat drop started to approach, and Logan slowed down his hopping to approach you. The anticipation in your fingers made them shake slightly as you wrapped them around the top of your towel dress, getting ready. You were thrumming with energy, excitedly eyeing Logan.

The minute the beat dropped, and Logan had been expecting you to turn to face him, you yelled “SURPRISE!” and yanked open your towel, standing slightly in front of Logan to delay his inevitable discovery a little longer.

Logan moved so quickly you only realized what was happening because your eyes had been trained by years and years of combat. His eyes widened, almost popping out of his sockets, before the man hastily wrapped both arms around your waist, trying to reach for the most important parts. His right hand landed on your crotch, splayed as much as he could, while his left hand wrapped and your chest; Logan cupped your left breast with his large hand, relying on the bulge of his bicep to cover the other one. Simultaneously to this, Logan utilized his inhumane strength to turn you around as if you were a piece of paper, giving his back to the camera just as the TikTok sound ended and the phone stopped recording.

“[Y/N], what the fuck?!” He said, looking down at you. “What, why are you laughing?” He barked, still holding onto you as tightly as he could. Your feet barely grazed the ground.

“Baby! Logan, you can stop squeezing my tits as if your life depended on it! I’m dressed,” you snorted, gesturing down to your apparent state of not undress. Logan looked down so fast you swore you heard his neck crack. The minute he saw the clothes enveloping your body, he let go of you. You landed on the ground, the towel sliding off your body, laying limply on the floor.

Logan dropped down on the bench, exasperated, running a hand through his hair. “If I weren’t basically immortal, I would have died. Right here!” He snarled, no real vehemence behind his tone. “I was just trying to do what you told me and then bam, I think you’re showing the world everything.” He slumped against the wall, rolling his eyes. “Fuck me.”

You grabbed your phone, still laughing, while simultaneously trying to reassure him. “Oh, Logan, please. I know this is only for your eyes only. It was a prank! Come on, don’t make that sad kitty face,” you said, squeezing his hand as you tried to stop another burst of laughter. Logan didn’t say anything, pretending to be mad at you. He turned his head away from you, but you saw the ghost of a smile dance on his lips, even if he was trying to repress it. You decided to try a different approach.

“I think I loved doing this. You know why?” You asked, starting to play with the hair on his chest. Logan just melted against you, even though he was trying to pretend to be mad. “Because I got proof, once again, that my boyfriend loves me to the moon and back. And…I also have the proof that you are so undefeated in battle because you have great reflexes.” You said. This seemed to fully derail Logan from his original plan of fake anger.

“Really?” He mused, raising his eyesbrows at you. You nodded, pulling out the phone and showing him the video.

“Look, look how fucking fast you pulled me away, and look, I have to put the video in 0.75 speed to even remotely understand what is happening.” You said, pointing out at the screen. You looked up, seeing Logan to now have a smug grin on his lips.

“I’m not so bad after all.” He chirped. You smiled up at him, nodding in full agreement. “Now,” he said, his face suddenly changing to serious. “Wanna actually strip, and head in the shower? We could have some fun.” He grinned, taking your phone and throwing it in his duffle back.

You licked your lips, hastily rushing to the shower room, leaving a trail of clothes behind you. Logan laughed loudly, something that didn’t happen off, slowly standing up, unbuckling his belt as he also made his way to the shower room.

[s4kura-tr3]

Snow day

Summary: the JJK men have a day off from work because of the snow

Characters: Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Sukuna, Toji, Megumi, Yuji

Gojo satoru

The snow is falling thick and fast outside your window when you wake up, a rare silence blanketing the usual city chaos. You squint at your phone, scrolling past a string of notifications until one catches your eye—work is canceled. A snow day. You barely have time to process this before the bed dips beside you.

“Guess who doesn’t have to be an adult today?” Gojo’s voice is smug, even as his arms wrap lazily around you from behind. His hair’s a mess of white, almost blending into the snowstorm outside, and his grin is somehow brighter than the sunlight streaming through the curtains.

You mumble something about wanting to sleep in, but Gojo has other plans. “Oh no, no, no, no,” he says dramatically, tugging the blankets away. “We’ve been granted a day of pure, unadulterated freedom! This calls for celebration. Come on, lazybones, get up!”

Despite your groans, you’re soon bundled up in layers and dragged outside. The cold bites at your nose, but the sight of Gojo spinning in the falling snow—arms outstretched, head tilted back like a kid seeing snow for the first time—melts your initial reluctance.

The day unfolds with Gojo’s chaotic energy as the driving force. First, a snowball fight. It starts off tame until he begins bending the rules, using his Infinity to block your throws and conjuring impossibly large snowballs that he somehow claims are “fair game.” You manage to catch him off guard, pelting him square in the back, and he dramatically collapses into the snow like he’s been mortally wounded.

Then comes the snowman-building competition, which quickly devolves into Gojo attempting to sabotage your progress while insisting his lopsided creation has “character.” By the time you both admit defeat, your cheeks are flushed and your gloves are soaked through.

Back inside, the warmth is heavenly, and Gojo insists on making hot cocoa. It’s overly sweet—because, of course, he dumps half a bag of marshmallows into your cup—but it’s perfect. You curl up on the couch together under a blanket, your feet tangled as you watch the snow continue to fall outside.

“Days like this are rare,” he murmurs, his voice softer now. He presses a kiss to your temple, his hand finding yours beneath the blanket. “We should make it snow more often.”

You laugh, rolling your eyes at his absurdity, but you can’t deny it—you wouldn’t trade this day for anything.

Geto Suguru

The morning starts with an unusual stillness. You’re lying in bed, half-buried under the warmth of the blankets, when you notice the faint blue-gray light filtering through the curtains. Snow. Lots of it. You reach for your phone and find the notification waiting: work is canceled. You sigh in relief, sinking deeper into the mattress.

Beside you, Geto stirs, his long, dark hair spilling over the pillow. He opens his eyes just enough to look at you, a lazy smirk curling on his lips. “What’s got you smiling?” he murmurs, his voice husky with sleep.

“Snow day,” you reply, tilting your phone to show him the screen.

He hums, eyes closing again as he pulls you closer. “Then there’s no reason to get up, is there?”

For a while, neither of you moves. His steady breathing and the muffled quiet of the snow make it easy to stay curled up together, his arms wrapped loosely around you. Eventually, though, the outside world calls. “We should do something,” you say, breaking the comfortable silence.

“Something like breakfast?” he offers, his voice teasing.

The two of you make your way to the kitchen, where Geto puts together a simple but satisfying breakfast. He moves with an easy confidence, brushing his hair into a loose bun as he hands you a steaming mug of tea. The two of you eat by the window, watching the snow drift lazily to the ground.

Afterward, Geto pulls on a coat and convinces you to do the same. “Come on,” he says, lacing his fingers through yours. “Let’s go see what it’s like out there.”

The streets are quiet and blanketed in pristine white. The city feels transformed, the usual chaos muted by the snow. Geto leads you to a nearby park, where the two of you walk along the snow-covered paths, your boots crunching softly with each step.

At one point, he stops to brush the snow from a bench and gestures for you to sit. “Stay there,” he says with a small smile, before gathering an armful of snow and rolling it into a ball. You watch as he builds a snowman with meticulous care, crafting its features with the same precision he brings to everything.

When he steps back to admire his work, you can’t help but laugh. “It’s… interesting,” you say, noting the lopsided grin he’s given it.

“Artistic,” he corrects with mock seriousness, his dark eyes gleaming.

You join him in the snowman-making endeavor, and before long, you’re laughing and throwing snow at each other. Geto isn’t one to start a snowball fight, but he doesn’t hesitate to retaliate when you toss a handful of snow at his back. His throws are deliberate, always landing close enough to make you yelp but never enough to truly soak you.

Eventually, the cold drives you both back inside. Geto sets about making hot chocolate, insisting on doing it properly—none of that instant stuff. The scent of melting chocolate fills the apartment as you wrap yourself in a blanket, watching him work with quiet appreciation.

When he finally hands you a mug, he sits beside you on the couch, pulling the blanket around the both of you. The snow continues to fall outside, but the warmth of his presence makes everything else fade away.

“You know,” he says softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face, “we should have more days like this. Just us. No work, no distractions.”

You smile, leaning your head against his shoulder. “Agreed.”

The rest of the day passes in cozy contentment, the snowstorm outside making your shared warmth feel all the more precious.

Nanami Kento

You wake up to the soft patter of snow against the window and the unmistakable stillness that only comes with a snowstorm. For once, your alarm isn’t the thing pulling you from sleep. Instead, it’s Nanami gently nudging your shoulder.

“It’s snowing,” he says quietly, his voice low and even. “And work is canceled.”

Your eyes flutter open to see him sitting on the edge of the bed, already dressed in his usual crisp manner, though his tie is noticeably absent. He’s holding a steaming cup of coffee in one hand, the other resting on your shoulder.

You groan, rolling onto your side. “So why are you up already?”

“Old habits,” he replies with a faint smile. “But since we have the day off, I thought I’d make us breakfast.”

The promise of food is enough to pull you out of bed. By the time you join him in the kitchen, the smell of fresh coffee and something sweet fills the air. Nanami is at the stove, flipping pancakes with the kind of precision he applies to everything. He hands you a plate as soon as you sit down, topped with golden pancakes and fresh fruit.

“Fancy,” you tease, drizzling syrup over the stack.

“I don’t believe in wasting time,” he replies simply, though there’s a softness to his tone.

After breakfast, the two of you linger at the table, sipping coffee and watching the snow pile up outside the window. It’s peaceful, and for once, there’s no rush to go anywhere or do anything.

When you suggest going outside, Nanami raises an eyebrow. “You know it’s freezing, right?”

“Exactly,” you say with a grin. “That’s what makes it fun.”

It takes some convincing, but eventually, he relents. Bundled up in scarves and gloves, the two of you step into the snow-covered streets. The neighborhood is quiet, and the fresh snowfall makes everything look almost magical.

Nanami is hesitant at first, but he humors you when you start gathering snow for a snowman. He helps you pack the snow into firm, perfect spheres, muttering something about “structural integrity” that makes you laugh. When it’s done, you declare it a masterpiece, though Nanami gives it a critical once-over.

“It’s lopsided,” he points out, but there’s a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

You stick your tongue out at him, and just when you think he’s about to argue further, he surprises you by scooping up a handful of snow and lightly tossing it at your shoulder.

“Did you just—?”

Before you can finish, another snowball lands near your feet. Nanami is already walking away, but you catch the faintest smile tugging at his lips. “You started this,” you say, gathering your own ammunition.

The snowball fight that follows is short-lived but full of laughter, and by the time you both head back inside, your cheeks are flushed from the cold and exertion.

Nanami insists you warm up properly, so he brews a fresh pot of tea while you change into dry clothes. The two of you settle onto the couch, wrapped in a shared blanket, with steaming mugs in hand.

And for the rest of the day, you enjoy the quiet comfort of each other’s company, the world outside forgotten in favor of the warmth you share.

Toji fushiguro

The day starts with the sound of excited little footsteps racing down the hallway. You barely have time to register the noise before Megumi bursts into your room, his cheeks pink with excitement and his hair sticking up more than usual.

“It snowed!” he announces, pulling at the blankets. “A lot! Come look!”

You groan softly, still half-asleep, but the sound rouses Toji, who’s sprawled beside you, his arm draped lazily over your waist. He opens one eye, glancing at Megumi with a mix of amusement and exasperation.

“It’s too early for this, kid,” Toji grumbles, though there’s no real bite to his tone.

“It’s not!” Megumi insists, tugging harder at the covers. “You promised we could go outside if it snowed!”

Toji sighs dramatically but finally sits up, ruffling Megumi’s already-messy hair. “Alright, alright. Go get dressed. And wear that coat I got you, not the thin one.”

Megumi bolts from the room, and you chuckle as you sit up, stretching. “Looks like you’re on snow-duty today.”

“Not just me,” Toji says, smirking as he leans over to press a kiss to your forehead. “You’re in this too.”

After breakfast—a quick affair of toast and hot chocolate, because Megumi can’t sit still long enough for anything else—you all bundle up and head outside. The snow is pristine and untouched, and Megumi’s eyes light up as he surveys the sparkling white blanket covering the yard.

Toji starts off by helping Megumi build a snowman, though his version involves packing the snow so tightly it could probably survive a hurricane. Megumi insists on adding little twigs for arms and a crooked smile, and when you laugh at the result, Toji smirks. “It’s got character,” he says, echoing Megumi’s words.

Once the snowman is done, Toji takes it upon himself to teach Megumi the “art” of snowball throwing. He crouches low, showing him how to pack the snow just right. Of course, the first snowball Megumi throws hits you square in the arm, earning a triumphant cheer from the little boy and a low chuckle from Toji.

“You’re supposed to aim for me, kid,” Toji says, scooping up a snowball of his own.

But instead of throwing it at Megumi, he tosses it gently at you, a teasing smirk on his face. “Gotta defend yourself, sweetheart.”

What follows is a chaotic snowball fight, with Megumi enthusiastically teaming up with Toji against you. You hold your own for a while, but eventually, Toji sneaks up behind you and lifts you off the ground, giving Megumi the perfect shot. Both of them laugh as you pretend to be defeated, and Toji sets you down with a satisfied grin.

Eventually, the cold starts to seep in, and you all head back inside. Toji insists on making something warm, so while he heats up soup in the kitchen, you help Megumi out of his snow-soaked layers and wrap him in a cozy blanket.

The rest of the day is spent in comfortable warmth. Megumi curls up on the couch between you and Toji, his head resting on your arm as the three of you watch a movie together. Toji’s hand rests lazily on your leg, his thumb rubbing small circles absentmindedly.

As the snow continues to fall outside, you glance over at the two of them—Megumi, fighting to keep his eyes open, and Toji, looking more at peace than you’ve seen in a while.

Sukuna Ryomen

The snow falls steadily outside the wooden shutters of your Heian-era home, blanketing the courtyard in pristine white. You watch from the veranda, wrapped in layers of silk, as the delicate flakes settle on the trees and roof tiles. The world feels quieter, slower—a rare reprieve from the usual hum of life.

Behind you, Sukuna lounges lazily against the wooden frame of the door, his dual eyes watching you with a mix of amusement and curiosity. He’s draped in his usual attire, though he’s added a thick haori over it, more for style than warmth. The cold never seems to bother him, but you’ve noticed he enjoys the aesthetic of snow days as much as you do.

“You’ve been staring out there for an eternity,” he drawls, his voice a low rumble. “What’s so fascinating about frozen water?”

“It’s peaceful,” you reply, glancing over your shoulder at him. “Don’t you think?”

He snorts, pushing himself to his feet with a grace that belies his size and presence. “Peaceful isn’t exactly my style.” But he steps onto the veranda anyway, his sharp gaze sweeping across the snowy courtyard.

You stand together for a moment, watching the snow fall in companionable silence. Then, without warning, Sukuna smirks. “Let’s see how long your ‘peaceful’ moment lasts.”

Before you can react, he’s scooped up a handful of snow and hurled it at you, the cold shock of it catching you entirely off guard. You gasp, stumbling back, and he laughs—a deep, rich sound that echoes through the still air.

“Did you just—?” you sputter, brushing snow from your sleeve.

“Of course I did,” he says, entirely unapologetic. “What will you do about it?”

Your reply is swift: you gather a handful of snow and toss it back, aiming for his shoulder. He doesn’t even dodge, letting it hit him as his grin widens. “You’ll have to do better than that.”

The courtyard quickly becomes your battlefield, snowballs flying back and forth as Sukuna alternates between playful teasing and outright mockery of your aim. When you manage to land one squarely on his chest, his expression flickers with surprise before morphing into approval. “Not bad,” he concedes, though his retaliation is immediate—a perfectly formed snowball that sends you running for cover.

Eventually, the game winds down, and Sukuna strides over to where you’ve taken refuge beneath a snow-covered tree. His hands are empty now, though his smirk remains firmly in place. “Had enough?”

You huff, brushing snow from your hair as you glare at him half-heartedly. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” he says, leaning in closer, his breath warm against your chilled face, “you still choose to stay.”

He pulls you back inside, where the warmth of the brazier offers relief from the cold. Sukuna settles beside you, pouring tea with surprising care, his claws handling the delicate porcelain with ease. He hands you a cup, watching as you sip, your hands still trembling slightly from the cold.

You huff, brushing snow from your hair as you glare at him half-heartedly. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” you say, echoing his earlier words, “you still choose to stay.”

For a moment, his expression softens, the corners of his mouth lifting in something almost resembling a smile. The snow continues to fall outside, but the warmth of his presence fills the room, chasing away the chill of winter.

Megumi Fushiguro

The soft glow of morning light filters through your window, accompanied by the faint sound of snow tapping against the glass. You stir, glancing outside to find the world covered in a thick, pristine blanket of snow. The usual chaos of the city seems muted, as if the snow itself has called for a pause.

Megumi is already awake, sitting cross-legged on the floor by the heater, a book balanced in his hands. He glances up when he notices you stirring.

“Snow day,” he says simply, his tone calm but his gaze lingering on the window.

You sit up, stretching with a small smile. “Guess we’re both stuck inside today.”

He hums, turning his attention back to his book, though you catch the faintest flicker of interest in his expression.

After a quick breakfast, you’re the first to suggest stepping outside. “We should enjoy it while it’s fresh,” you say, tugging on your coat.

Megumi raises an eyebrow. “You do realize it’s freezing, right?”

“All the more reason to appreciate it,” you counter, grabbing his scarf and tossing it to him. “Come on, I’ll even let you stay grumpy about it.”

With a resigned sigh, he pulls on his coat and follows you out. The cold air nips at your cheeks as you step into the snow-covered yard, your boots crunching softly with each step. Megumi’s hands are shoved into his pockets, and his dark hair is dusted with snowflakes almost instantly.

“You know,” you say, bending down to gather a handful of snow, “you could try to have a little fun.”

He glances at you, unimpressed, until you toss the snow at him, the powdery flurry landing harmlessly on his arm. He blinks at you, his expression unreadable.

“That’s how you want to do this?” he asks, his tone flat.

You grin. “Absolutely.”

What follows is a snowball fight you’ll remember for a long time. Megumi, true to form, doesn’t hold back once he decides to participate. His throws are calculated and precise, leaving you scrambling for cover more often than not. You manage to land a few hits of your own, but his sharp reflexes make him a formidable opponent.

At one point, you’re hiding behind a tree, trying to catch your breath, when you hear him approach. Before you can react, a snowball lands squarely on your back.

“You’re predictable,” he says, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“And you’re annoying,” you shoot back, though you’re smiling, too.

Eventually, the two of you call a truce, retreating to the house to warm up. Megumi sets a pot of tea on the stove while you drape a blanket over your shoulders, both of you still laughing softly from the morning’s antics.

The rest of the day passes in quiet comfort. You sit by the window, sipping tea and watching the snow continue to fall. Megumi joins you, his book in hand, though he seems more interested in the view than the pages.

“You’re not bad at snowball fights,” you remark after a while, breaking the silence.

He glances at you, his expression neutral but his tone light. “And you’re not bad at being a target.”

You roll your eyes, but the warmth in his voice makes you smile.

Yuji Itadori

The morning starts with Yuji shaking you awake, his excitement barely contained. His grin is as bright as the sunlight reflecting off the snow outside.

“Wake up!” he says, his voice bubbling with energy. “It snowed overnight! Like, a lot!”

You groan, trying to pull the blanket over your head, but he’s persistent, tugging it away and practically bouncing on the bed. “Come on, you can’t waste a snow day! We have to go outside!”

His enthusiasm is contagious, and soon enough, you’re bundled up and stepping out into the winter wonderland. The world feels quieter, softer, as if the snow has wrapped everything in a cozy, white blanket.

Yuji immediately runs into the snow, stomping around like a little kid, his breath fogging up in the cold air. “This is awesome!” he exclaims, spinning in a circle and throwing his arms out wide.

You laugh, watching him with fond amusement. “You act like you’ve never seen snow before.”

“Not like this!” he says, already scooping up a handful to pack into a snowball. “Besides, it’s more fun when you have someone to share it with.”

Before you can respond, the snowball hits you gently on the arm. You gape at him, feigning shock. “Did you just throw snow at me?”

He grins, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “What? It was an accident!”

“Accident, huh?” You bend down to grab your own snowball, and his eyes widen.

“Wait—no, no, no!” he laughs, dodging as you throw it at him.

What starts as a simple snowball fight quickly turns into an all-out war. Yuji is surprisingly agile, darting behind trees and ducking under cover with ease, but you manage to land a few hits. His laughter echoes through the air, warm and infectious, as the two of you chase each other around the yard.

At one point, you trip and fall into a soft pile of snow, and before you can get up, Yuji flops down beside you, both of you breathless and grinning.

“You’re ruthless,” he says, brushing snow off his coat.

“And you’re too competitive,” you reply, nudging him playfully.

He sits up, gazing out at the snowy expanse with a soft smile. “This is nice,” he says after a moment. “Spending time like this, with you. Feels… peaceful.”

You smile, leaning into his shoulder. “It is. Even with you pelting me with snowballs.”

He laughs, wrapping an arm around you to pull you closer. “Hey, you started it.”

The rest of the day is spent in a mix of playful chaos and quiet moments. Yuji insists on building the “ultimate snowman,” which ends up being a slightly lopsided creation with a goofy face that makes both of you laugh. You take breaks to warm up inside with hot chocolate, sitting by the window and watching the snow fall in comfortable silence.

By the time evening comes, you’re curled up on the couch together, a shared blanket draped over both of you. Yuji’s head rests against yours, his usual boundless energy replaced by a quiet contentment.

[magniloquent-raven]

Day 3: Missing Moments

a little something for @bucktommypositivityweek 💜 tommy POV after their first date + buck calling about meeting for coffee

**

Tommy's not moping. He doesn't mope. Especially not over a relationship that wasn't even a relationship yet. It was one date. Arguably less. Half a date with a guy he's hung out with—if he's counting very generously—a grand total of four times.

A blip, as far as relationships go. He has more history with that guy he used to trade semi-frequent blowjobs with who's saved in his phone as Nose Ring.

...Come to think of it, he should delete that guy's number. They haven't spoken in years. He's pretty sure the last text in their message history is—yup. Dick pic. From Nose Ring. They'd gone six months without contact, then he sent a picture of his penis and nothing else. Tommy couldn't find it in himself to be even vaguely interested, and there's been no communication since.

And that's really that's the problem, isn't it. His dating history is riddled with guys like that. Dead-end hookups and bad dates with people he didn't click with no matter how much he tried to force it. And people who just...didn't care enough. Then Evan...

Alright, he's moping a little bit. He's only human.

He's been laying in bed, staring at the ceiling. Pretty much since he got home. It's not late enough that he's tired, really, but he's also exhausted. In a soul-deep sort of way.

It was nice. He had a nice time, sitting across from Evan, letting him stutter his way through all the usual first date talking points like he was reading them off a list in his head. It was cute, how seriously he took it, how he'd pause and smile and get that soft look in his eye when he was listening to Tommy talk.

It would have been so easy to be greedy and keep spending time basking in that warmth he seems to radiate. Evan was clearly willing to push himself way past his comfort zone, but. Tommy wasn't. Isn't. His stomach twists just thinking about it.

But maybe he's being selfish either way. He wants more than Evan can give him, so he's pulling away completely, retreating before he can get too deep into planning a future Evan isn't ready for.

He sighs, feeling around next to his pillow until his fingers close around his phone.

Maybe Evan will reach out again. Some day. Eventually. Once he's more at ease with himself. Or maybe Tommy already ruined what could have been before it even started. Probably safer to just assume the latter. Restrict himself to hoping they can still be friends after this.

He scrolls aimlessly through his contacts. There's quite a few numbers in there that he should delete. Names he's not sure he recognizes anymore. Ones he wishes he could forget.

For some godforsaken reason he still has Sam Westbrook in here. Just reading the name puts a pit in his stomach. He doesn't remember everything about the three horrible months they spent together, it's mostly just flashes. The taste of too much beer on his tongue, saturated and clumsy in his mouth. A sharp smile and a sharper suit, always pressed and starched and better-than-you.

Tommy was newly out and far too hard on himself about how difficult it was. Guys like Sam seemed to sniff that out, made his personal shame all about them. It didn't always work, but Sam was particularly good at it. He always left Tommy feeling gutted and guilty and far too willing to do whatever it took to make it up to him the next time they saw each other. It's not a relationship he likes to think about.

But it's a reminder that he did the right thing tonight.

And...

Maybe he'll call Evan. Not yet, not right away. Tommy needs time to square away his own messy feelings, but maybe in a couple weeks. Just to let Even know he's. Around. If he needs someone to talk to about all this.

They can be friends. He'll make it work.

He deletes Sam's number, and tosses his phone aside.

Two weeks.

—

It's only two days later when his phone rings, Evan Buckley written across his screen in big white letters. He stares at it through five long buzzes while his heartbeat pounds in his ears.

This...wasn't the plan. And to make matters worse, he's at work. He catches one of his coworkers side-eyeing him curiously, and that pretty much guarantees he'll have at least three people ask him what was up with the phone call before his shift it over.

Well. He should at least give them something to gossip about. A guy called me and I watched it go to voicemail isn't much of a story.

He swipes to answer, before he can make himself any more nervous.

"Hey."

"Tommy! Hey!" Evan's voice crackles a little through the phone with a surprised intake of breath, like he wasn't the one who called in the first place. The corner of Tommy's mouth twitches. "H-how's it going?"

Tommy spent four hours yesterday taking apart his neighbours' lawn mower because he'd convinced the man it was making a weird noise and he could fix it. There was nothing wrong with it, but he checked every inch anyways, and put it back together well-oiled and exactly as pristine as it was before. That morning he'd gone grocery shopping with a paper list and his phone at home so he'd stop obsessively combing through all his files trying to find things to delete.

So, he's having a very normal week, clearly.

"Good," he says instead of explaining any of that. "I'm actually at work right now, so—"

"Oh crap, I forgot you were working today, sorry. I—I can call back later if you're busy."

"No, it's okay. Slow day so far." He pauses. "One might even say qui—"

"Ah, don't jinx it!"

Tommy snickers. Apparently Eddie wasn't exaggerating. He's known a lot of superstitious people, but most of them didn't take it this seriously. Evan sounded less panicked about flying directly into an actual hurricane. "Right, the dreaded Q-Word."

"Did you hear about the power lines that fell on our engine?!"

"Yes." He'd seen the pictures too. Pretty much everyone had, the 133 were sending them around all day after they took that call.

"And then some guy stole it later that same day, y'know. It was a terrible shift."

He'd heard about that too, but not that it was the same station. Damn. "Alright, alright. No tempting fate."

"Well. Good. Too many things can go wrong with helicopters."

Tommy squints up at the rafters, feeling unbearably fond. Like he's full of something warm and syrupy and too big for his chest, like he's spilling sunlight between his ribs.

He should ask why Evan called. Polite check-in after their date ended so abruptly? Another storm he needs Tommy to fly into? Metaphorical or otherwise. Hopefully it won't involve stealing anything else. They got way too lucky the first time for Tommy to trust it working out again, and he kind of likes his job.

He slips his free hand into his pocket. "How are you doing, Evan?"

"Oh." He lets out a soft exhale that comes through as quiet static. "I, uh. Good, actually. B-better, um. Listen, are you free tomorrow?"

Tommy stops breathing, lungs seizing for a long moment before he very carefully reminds himself how to use them. "Yes."

"I wanted to. Talk. To you. Um. In person, preferably."

This really wasn't the plan.

But it's fine. It's more than fine. It's...

He'll just have to deal with wanting to kiss the living daylights out of someone who's off-limits, it's not like he's never had to do that before. If Evan needs something from him he's not about to say no, he just didn't expect it to happen so soon, if it happened at all.

"I, uh, would've just popped by your house unannounced, but I thought this might be more polite," he continues, a teasing lilt in his voice. Tommy purses his lips against the smile threatening to overtake his face. "Also, I don't know where you live."

"You could've asked Eddie."

"Oh, so you're saying I should have ambushed you then?"

"No, that's very rude. Who does that."

Evan's delighted laugh is bright and infectious, and has him grinning at his feet, sunlight spreading down to the tips of his fingers.

"So, coffee? Tomorrow?"

"Alright."

"Cool. Awesome. I'll text you the details?"

"Cool," he echoes, purposefully deadpan. "Awesome."

He can hear the smile in Evan's voice when he pretends to be offended by the mocking. It's there all through their goodbye too, and Tommy finds himself coiled up around his anticipation at the thought of seeing that smile again.

It's going to be a long 18 hours. But it's worth the wait.

[scarletwinterxx]

game boy - jeon wonwoo imagine

hiiiiiii ~ i know i'm not the only one kicking their feet whenever this man appears on the screen. I can't get him out of my mind (even if i try)😅😅hope you like it!

for my other svt fics, check them here

if you want, u can buy me coffee(totally optional but any donation is very much appreciated!) thank you🥺💛

All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2024 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(pics not mine, credits to rightful owner)

"Since when are you into gaming?" the voice from behind you asked, you immediately put your phone down as your roommate take the seat across from you.

A knowing smirk on her face.

"Since I was a kid, I'll have you know I'm a pro at building houses in Sims" the lie slides out so easy you almost thought your roommate believes it

"Oh so not because you think that gamer dude is cute?"

It's not the first time she's seen you watching his live, sometimes she can hear it from your room behind the closed door or your phone sitting on the counter as you wash dishes.

Maybe you really are into gaming or a bigger maybe you might be into the dude who's gaming.

"Who? Him? I just scrolled past his live, totally random" you shrug your shoulders

"Mhm, so I didn't hear you squeal last night when he went live after going on a break for a month?"

"How did you know he was on a break?" you ask

"How did YOU know?" she asks back. She caught you there, when you don't say anything she just laughs. "It's okay to admit if you're crushing on him, I'd understand. He's all yours though"

"I don't have a crush on him"

"Mhm and I'm not failing Spanish"

"You know what I'll leave you here, you need to study and I need to go" you tell her while you gather your stuff on the table, "You're not actually mad right?"

You chuckle at her question, "You weren't wrong so I can't be mad. Anyways, bye"

It took a few seconds for her to process what you just said, by the time she did you're already out the library.

You walk out the campus premises, the weather's great so you decided to just walk. You put on you're earphones and enjoy the scenery, your feet on auto-pilot ready and set to take you to your destination.

When you got to the building, you let your self in and giving the building's doorman a wave on your way to the elevator. You punch the code on the keypad to let yourself in, the inside of the apartment a stark contrast from the bright sun outside. The black out curtains are drawn making the room dark like it isn't 4pm right now.

You take your shoes off and put your stuff down before getting your phone to see if Wonwoo is streaming and sure enough he was.

He's also a student in your university, he streams when his schedule lets him. Whenever you're alone you let his videos play in the background, kind of like a white noise for you.

You get some snacks from the kitchen, then walk to the window to let some light in before getting comfortable in the living room while you finish some of your pending works.

After a while you hear Wonwoo say goodbye to the stream then the screen turns dark. You turn your phone off, putting it back down on the coffee table.

From down the hall, you hear the door open then footsteps coming towards the living room.

Wonwoo spots you immediately, sitting on the living room floor with books and notes infront of you and your phone lying on the side. You must've been watching him.

"Oh, when did you get here?" he smiles at you, walking towards where you were then taking the vacant space on the floor beside you. He sits sideways so he's facing you, legs resting on either side of you.

"Like 30 minutes ago, you were in the middle of your stream so I thought I should finish some of this" you point at the piles of paper infront of you before turning your attention back to him "You had fun? You probably missed streaming"

"It's fun, some of the viewers and a few followers asked where I was last month I just said I needed a break" he smiles back at you, tucking a few strands of hair back then giving your ear a pinch making you giggle at the action.

That short break was actually the two of going on a trip as your first anniversary celebration. He surprised you with a trip outside the country for two weeks, just in time for term break so it worked out fine.

He could've streamed while the two of you were away, he has a laptop he could bring or stream when you got back after the trip but instead he chose to spend that time with you. It was nice having his undivided attention. Not that he ever made you feel ignored, never.

"You'll break so many hearts when they find out you're not actually single" you let out a short laugh

"I never said I was, after our first date whenever someone asks if I'm single I would say no" he says to you

"1st date? but that was such a long time ago" you recall the memory of your first day. You've been crushing on him for a while, like since you first saw him, and by some miracle one day he asked you out on a date. The two of you went to the aquarium then dinner. He courted you for a while before the two of you became an official couple, but even before that you already know you weren't going to let go of him that easy.

Here you are now a year later.

"I know" he shyly admits.

"So what do you say? You just say you're taken?"

"Kinda, I don't like talking about my personal life online so I just answer in the most simple way. I never denied I had a girlfriend so I guess it's up to them if they didn't get it" he shrugs

"Huh, I didn't"

"Huh?"

"I watch your streams, guess I never caught on"

"You watch my streams? Until now?"

"Yeah, I like watching you. It's comforting, kinda like my own comfort show"

He knows you watch him, whether you're in the same room as him or here in his home or when you're back at your own place you always tune in his stream. You really are his biggest fan.

"You know my roommate is starting to catch on, she thinks I have a crush on this 'gamer dude'" you make air quotes at the nickname, this makes Wonwoo chuckle

"Do you now?" he teases

"Yea, I think he's kinda cute. Apart from that time he wore that black button up. I was ready to throw hands"

He laughs at that, remembering just how you barged in his gaming room after the stream ended.

"You're never letting that go are you?"

"Never, you looked so good I almost grabbed you out of the screen. Not fair they get to see how hot my boyfriend is"

Wonwoo blushes at your words. Those words being used to describe him isn't new to his ears, but it's different when you say it. He can feel the butterflies flutter in his stomach, something only you can do.

Not even the scariest game can make his heart race like you.

"Do you want do drop by on my next stream or whenever?"

"Drop by?"

"I mean like just... be there. If you wanna show your face it's okay but if you don't want to it's okay too. No pressure. I don't want you thinking any of those faceless names on my screen can ever replace you" letting the words tumble out one by one because your gaze is making him nervous

You just stare at him as he talks, slowly a smile forming on your face then you're attacking him with a hug

"You're so cute, you know that?" you mumble against his neck where your face was pressed against, he chuckles at your question. Tugging you closer to him until you're straddling his lap

"Just making sure you know"

"I know, I always know. Don't you worry about that, just do you okay? I'll be here right beside you always. No matter what it is you want to do"

And he knows that too. You've always been his cheerleader, the one who always talks him into things he never thought about doing. In a way, you brought him out of his comfort zone in the most comforting way. You being there always eased his mind.

He smiles at you again before closing the distance between the two of you, giving you a kiss like he's saying he missed you today or all those days you weren't with him. He just always makes you feel like you're meant to be there with him.

[sukirichi]

[ DUSK ‘TILL DAWN : 018 ]

“we who bear the burden of the crown do not need to love. you only need to stay here, with me, in power, in greed, in lust – in victory.”

cw. angst, infidelity, defamation, forced incest (please read the chapter first before you come at me 😭), reader uses a gun, alcohol consumption, emotional manipulation, toxic characters and toxic relationships, iris pov (just for a short part), mentions of murder, car accidents

notes. YOOO can you guys believe we are so close to the ending!! thank you guys so much for being so sweet and supportive to dtd! even though ik most of the readers are away and busy with school now (as am i) i still hope you guys enjoy this update hehe. the next chapter drop should be around the regular dtd tuesdays <3

wc. 13k

series masterlist 

[ EIGHTEEN ] no matter how easy things could be if I did, and no matter how guilty I still feel saying it. I wish I hated you.

In hindsight, the day began like any other day in the glorious kingdom of Inarizaki.

The early morning sun cast its golden glow over the streets that bustled with people, the shops opening with smiles and greetings to the familiar faces of loyal customers. The air was filled with the aroma of freshly baked bread and brewed tea, the distant chime of church bells signalling the start of a new day.

But beneath this serene facade, a storm was threatening to blow – one that would shake the very foundations of the already fragile throne. Iris knew this, too – she could feel it, could extend her hand and have her fingertips brush against her inevitable end.

As the first rays of light filtered through the windows of homes and cafes, Iris watched as the kingdom’s most widely read newspapers hit the stands. The headline had been bold and dramatic, splashed across the front page in large, black letters enough to garner heads turning its way. Who Is The Real Iris Amari? it read, accompanied by a series of photographs that left little to the imagination.

The citizens of Inarizaki began their mind-numbing routine, unaware of the bombshell waiting for them in the morning news. It started slowly, with a few early risers picking up the newspaper and gasping in shock. Unsurprisingly, the scandal spread like wildfire.

The younger ones scrolled through their phones, stopping in their tracks as the news popped up on their screens. The article quickly went viral, shared across social media platforms in the speed of light. It seemed that everyone had something to say about the explosive revelation – Iris’ official portrait decorated on it all.

In a cafe Iris had once loved visiting when she was still a teenager, where morning coffee was usually a time spent with light-hearted chatter and gossip during a faraway era when she still had friends, the atmosphere grew tense and charged. She could’ve been one of them, she thinks, a group of young people huddled together, their voices hushed but urgent. “Did you see the news about Princess Iris?” a woman whispered to her companion, her eyes wide with disbelief. “Her mother involved in a murder? I can’t believe it?”

“Now that they mention it,” mumbled the man next to her, stroking his chin in thought. “It was rather odd that she got married to the Second Prince out of nowhere.”

All across the Kingdom, people gathered in small clusters – their faces a mix of shock, outrage, and disbelief. The photographs shown in the article were damning, capturing moments that painted a grim picture of Princess Iris’ past. One image showed her mother, Kate Amari, in a heated argument with the Late King. Another depicted Iris herself at a lavish party, her expression one of defiance and rebellion.

She’d remembered that party, could recall how the events went crystal clear. She’d been so young, barely nineteen and out of high school, when the impending doom of her fate grew ever near. A few years from now, she would’ve been forced into a marriage with a Prince whose affections she could never win. And what better way to accept her fate than make her mother outraged? So she’d partied, drunk herself to nearly the point of no return, and stumbled back home crying because she’d known. Her fate had been decided from her the moment the Late King slipped from her mother’s grasp, and into the arms of another woman.

She could have never escaped it.

She was nothing but a painful reminder of what her mother could’ve had. I could’ve been his concubine, her mother would cry herself to sleep, screaming those words over and over. Glass would shatter on the walls as she threw another empty bottle of wine over Iris’ head. He said he loved me! He said he would take us home and we would be together as a family!

Such dreams were shattered in the blink of an eye. No matter how much she wailed, and ran after the Late King, it never changed the fact that her mother was the daughter of a lowborn servant, and the Late King had always been majestic from the day he was born.

We were in love, she would tell Iris, brushing her hands through her dark locks – the same shade as the King’s. He’d always loved me, you see. Before the Crown forced him to marry her, you know? The Queen? The one who never smiles? He doesn’t love her, my dear, but he has us. You and me, his precious girls.

Iris thought his mother was delusional. She knew all about it, of course. She’d read her mother’s journals, the love letters the King had penned. She hadn’t been lying that he loved her, once.

The King, merely a Crown Prince at the time, aged sixteen when he first crossed the borders and paid an official visit to the humbler towns of Itachiyama where he met her mother. They’d been young, and foolishly in love. And her mother, illiterate and innocent, had captured the Prince’s heart. He thought her an ideal woman; unstained by ideals, untainted by the law. She knew only how to love him, and for once in his life, he’d felt more of a boy than he was a Prince. He’d made promises he couldn’t keep, promises of running away to the ends of the earth where they could be together.

Like a fool, Iris’ mother held onto his promise. She kept her loyalty even after he’d married the current Queen. She kept chasing after him even after the First Prince – a bastard child – was born. She’d loved him, through and through, until he returned to Itachiyama and made her believe he’d returned for her, only to stumble in the same sheets as Kiyoomi’s mother.

Her mother hadn’t been the same ever since.

She grew obsessed with revenge, throwing herself into a path where redemption couldn’t exist. She’d studied, made a name of herself, and flew to Inarizaki the moment the King had drunkenly put a child into her belly. Not that the King could remember – hence why he never accepted Iris as his own.

But she’d find herself amongst her true family. That was Kate Amari’s promise before the Queen betrayed her, and put her behind bars.

On the busy streets of the capital, pedestrians paused to check their phones, their reactions intense. Some stared in disbelief, while others shook their heads in disgust. A few young people, who had grown up admiring Princess Iris, felt a deep sense of betrayal. “I always thought she was different,” a teenager muttered to his friend. “But this... this is something else.”

The Palace was thrown into chaos as the news spread.

Inside the grand halls, staff members whispered amongst themselves, casting anxious glances towards the royal chambers. Courtiers and advisors rushed to convene emergency meetings, their faces pale and drawn. The Queen, upon hearing the news, simply sat down and pressed her lips into a thin line.

In the markets and town squares, debates broke out as people tried to make sense of the allegations. Some defended Princess Iris, arguing that the writer was anonymous, and the photographs could be doctored. “You can’t believe everything you read,” a shopkeeper insisted, waving his hand dismissively. “This could be a plot to discredit the royal family.”

The others were not so easily convinced. “Look at the evidence,” a customer countered, pointing to the newspaper. “The photographs, the timeline – it all fits. How can you ignore that?”

The debate raged on, with emotions running high on both sides. Some citizens called for Princess Iris to be stripped of her title and brought to justice, while others urged caution and a thorough investigation before jumping to conclusions. It was evident that the Kingdom stood on the brink of a social and political upheaval.

Even as the palace attempted to manage the fallout, the scandal showed no signs of abating.

News channels broadcasted special reports, experts weight in with their opinions, and social media buzzed with speculation and outrage. The Kingdom of Inarizaki had never seen such a scandal, and it seemed that everyone had been swept up in the maelstrom.

In the midst of the chaos, Princess Iris remained secluded within the palace walls, shielded from the public eye as she held a hand to her belly. But the damage was done. The question on everyone’s mind was how the royal family would recover from such a devastating blow – a question not even Iris had the answer to.

She knew one thing, and one thing, only.

She was a Princess, and she’d do anything to keep her place within the Palace walls.

Iris stood by the window of her – your – lavishly decorated room, staring out at the gardens she had once found solace in. The vibrant flowers, the meticulously trimmed hedges, the majestic fountains – all of it seemed like a distant memory now, a world that no longer belonged to her. Instead, a hollow numbness settled deep within her chest, a void where her hopes and dreams once resided.

When Iris first laid eyes on you on the day Rintaro picked you out in a crowded room, she’d thought you were harmless. Dull. Plain. You spoke only what needed to be said, and made no unnecessary movements. Stiff, and boring. She would’ve never thought, or seen it coming, that her damnation would come from the hands of a poor, lovesick girl who’d been lied to.

The heavy footsteps of the guards echoed in the corridor outside, growing louder with each passing second. She knew they were coming for her, to escort her out of the Palace for the last time.

The ornate mirror on the wall showed a reflection Iris could barely recognized – the same as her mother’s eyes had now lost their spark, a face that aged overnight from the weight of the scandal.

The door opened with a creak, and the guards stepped in. She felt their presence more than she saw it, their stern faces and impassive conveying the gravity of her situation. They waited silently, giving her a moment to gather herself, but there was nothing left to gather. Her spirit felt fragmented, her resolve shattered. Now, all she felt was anger hidden underneath a layer of numbness. Don’t look at me like that, she wanted to sneer, I am your Princess. I am the King’s only daughter!

She turned from the window, her movements slow and deliberate, as if she were in a dream. Her heart was a heavy stone in her chest, each beat a reminder of the life she was leaving behind.

The corridor stretched out before her, each step echoing with a finality that was almost suffocating. The opulence of the palace, the tapestries, and gilded frames, all seemed to mock her now. She had once walked these halls with confidence and grace, but now, every step felt like a march towards her end. It was all hers – all could’ve been hers – if you never stepped in and took it all away from her.

As she descended the staircase, the memories of simpler times haunted her. The laughter, the never-ending banquets and stock of wine, the promises of a future that had been her birthright – they all seemed like a cruel illusion now. She could feel the eyes of the palace staff on her, their pity and curiosity cutting through the numbness like a knife. Still, she kept her head high, determined to maintain her dignity in these final moments.

The guards flanked her as she reached the main entrance. The heavy doors were already open, revealing the world beyond the palace walls. The bright sunlight was almost blinding. She paused at the threshold, taking one last look at the place that had been her home, her prison, and her battleground.

With a deep breath, she stepped out into the light. The doors closed behind her with a final, echoing thud, sealing her fate. The guards guided her towards the waiting vehicle, their hands gentle yet firm on her arms. She climbed inside, her movements robotic, her mind still struggling to process the enormity of what was happening.

As the carriage began to move, the palace slowly disappeared from view, replaced by the bustling streets of the city. She saw the faces of the citizens, some curious, some indifferent, and a few sympathetic. But none of it mattered anymore. Her life as Princess Iris was over, and what lay ahead was a life she never deserved.

The numbness returned, a merciful shield against the overwhelming reality. She leaned back in her seat, closing her eyes, letting the gentle sway of the carriage lull her into a state of detached calm. The future was uncertain, but for now, all she could do was endure.

+

Summoned by the royal advisors and members of the council, Iris made her way to the council chamber. As she approached the large, intricately carved doors, two guards pushed them open, revealing a room filled with stern faces and accusatory eyes.

The room was a stark contrast to the rest of the palace. It was dimly lit, with long shadows cast by the flickering candlelight. The heavy wooden table at the center was surrounded by the kingdom’s most powerful and influential figures, all of whom had been convened to address the scandal that had erupted overnight.

“Princess Iris,” one of the senior advisors began, his voice cold and devoid of empathy. "Do you understand the gravity of the situation? The article has not only tarnished your reputation but has also brought disgrace upon the entire royal family."

Iris stood before them, trying to maintain her composure. Her eyes met those of the advisors, seeking any hint of understanding or compassion, but finding none. She nodded, unable to trust her voice to remain steady. She’d already figured this would happen.

“We have no choice,” another advisor interjected. “The people demand accountability, and the council has decided that you must be stripped of your title. This is a necessary step to restore faith in the monarchy.”

The words hit her like a physical blow. Stripped of her title. The enormity of the situation began to sink in, and she felt a wave of humiliation wash over her.

“You can’t,” she croaked out, her throat growing dry. “I-I am married to the Second Prince, and my title is secured. You cannot separate us as divorce is illegal, and if you do so... that would be saying the Prince loses his title, too.”

The advisors shared a look with one another, processing the gravity of her words. “While what you say is indeed true, this is one of those occasions where we must make... necessary adjustments,” the senior advisor said, his glasses pushed up to his nose. “We have already taken measures to fact-check the article and–”

“And?”

The senior advisor glares at her for interrupting. The entire change in attitude was impalpable; now that she’d been scandalized, everyone suddenly lost respect for her. “–And we found that everything written in it was true, just as the photographs are real. We also found records confirming that your mother, Kate Amari, was imprisoned years ago for murder. The King’s murder.”

A bitter, sardonic laugh bubbled from her throat. “I do not deny that, but did anyone ever investigate why she killed him?” A round of gasps echoed through the room at the revelation. “I am willing to bet on my whole life that none of you know how important I am in the royal family, that if it weren’t for me, all of you would be losing your positions and jobs as we speak! It was I who kept all the secrets, the one and only reason you are all able to live your pathetic, worthless lives because none of you know anything! You don’t even know that the Queen you worship reverently is–”

The grand doors of the courtroom creaked open, and the air seemed to grow heavier with each passing second. All eyes turned towards the entrance as the Queen, clad in a dark, regal gown that seemed to absorb the light, stepped into the room. Her presence commanded an immediate, oppressive silence, freezing everyone in their places.

Her gaze, cold and calculating, swept across the assembly, landing on each individual with the weight of her authority. The air was thick with tension as courtiers and officials alike dared not to breathe too loudly, lest they draw her scrutiny. Iris felt her heart seize in her chest, her earlier numbness replaced by a paralyzing fear. The Queen’s entrance had turned the room into a tableau of silent dread, each person awaiting the inevitable judgment that her arrival heralded.

“That is enough,” her cold, heartless voice sweeps across the room. “The final decision has been made. You are no longer allowed to speak another word unless I, the Queen, permits it.”

“Traitor,” Iris sneered, baring her teeth and lunging at the Queen when the guards held her back. “You’re a traitor! This isn’t what we agreed upon!”

The Queen, unfazed, sighs. “Take her away from here.”

Before Iris could protest further, a pair of strong arms escorted her to the grand hall for the public ceremony. The grand hall, usually a place of celebration and state affairs, was now filled with a somber and judgmental crowd. Nobles, courtiers, and even some members of the public had gathered to witness the spectacle. The air was thick with anticipation and whispers.

The whispers grew louder with each step she took. She walked with her head held high, determined not to let them see her crumble.

The queen, stood at the front of the room. She held a scepter in her hand, a symbol of the authority that was about to be wielded against Iris. The ceremony was swift, almost mechanical in its execution.

“Princess Iris,” the queen began, her voice echoing through the hall. “You have brought dishonor to this family and to this kingdom. By the power vested in me, I hereby strip you of your title and all the privileges that come with it.”

With those words, the queen raised the scepter and tapped it on Iris’s shoulder. The symbolic gesture felt like a final, crushing blow. The murmurs in the crowd grew louder, a mix of shock, satisfaction, and pity. Meanwhile, Iris stood, her eyes drawn to the ground as she fought back against the tears that threatened to fall.

She couldn’t believe it. The Queen had broken their agreement, turned back on her word like she did with her Mother. She’d promised her mother to place her within the royal family, then banished her overseas without another word. Now, she betrayed Iris too – arranging her marriage with Kiyoomi, her brother, and took it away from her.

The queen continued, her voice unwavering. “You are no longer Princess Iris of Inarizaki. You are hereby banished from the royal palace, and your marriage to Prince Kiyoomi is annulled.”

The crowd gasped, the severity of the punishment sinking in. Iris raised her head, unable to stop the tear slipping down her cheek. Quickly, she wiped it away. She had to remain strong, if only for the sake of her dignity, because what could she say now? That she was pregnant, and Kiyoomi had to continue with the announcement of ‘the happy news’? She couldn’t – she was stuck in a dead-end corner, and judging by the slight smile playing on the Queen’s lips, she’d already calculated this potential move.

She’d known Iris would never bring up the baby to save herself. Iris would never subject herself to an unwanted pregnancy, keeping up this pretend of sickening act of husband and wife with her brother any longer. If she did, the Crown would pressure her to have another child – one with Kiyoomi this time around, assuming that Rintaro would be disposed of soon enough.

Iris couldn’t go that far.

The Queen, as always, got what she wanted and won.

As the ceremony concluded, Iris turned and walked out of the grand hall. The heavy doors closed behind her with a resounding thud.

Her mind raced with thoughts of what to do next. Where would she go now? Her mother was gone, and she had no allies, made no friends. Maiko could’ve been someone to run to, but even the foolish kid had been too enamoured with you to ever have any loyalty for her. But she refused to let it end like this. She had to clear her mother’s name, to reveal the truth about the queen’s crimes.

She wasn’t going to let it end like this.

With her title stripped and her future uncertain, Iris vowed to fight back. She would uncover the secrets buried deep within the palace walls, expose the queen’s treachery, and reclaim her honor. As she walked away from the palace, the whispers of the crowd still echoing in her ears, Iris walked onwards with newfound resolve. She might have lost her title, but she had not lost her spirit. The battle for her mother’s honor and her own redemption had only just begun.

She would take back what was hers.

The palace was sent into a whirlwind of chaos after Iris’ deposition.

You and Kiyoomi stood in the hallway of Belleview Manor, observing the frenzy. Servants moved like automatons, their faces set in grim determination as they hauled the remnants of Iris’ belongings out of her quarters, tossing her clothes and personal items into hastily arranged piles.

You watched as delicate dresses were carelessly bundled, precious trinkets thrown aside, and keepsakes unceremoniously discarded. Your eyes fell upon a particularly cherished item – a framed photo of a younger Iris and what appeared to be her mother. Their faces were lit into smiles, Iris’ smaller hands held tightly within her mother’s. It struck a chord of guilt within you, and you stepped forward, halting a servant who was about to toss it aside.

“Leave it,” you mouth silently, taking the photograph from the bewildered servant’s hands. Clutching the frame, you held it tightly to your chest, looking up at Kiyoomi with wide eyes.

It’d been less than a week since the news spread of Iris’ abrupt leave. The Queen had stripped her off her title, and the entire Kingdom had been harsh in their glee over it. It was ruthless, needless to say, how easily they turned on Iris – who was once their Princess – the moment the article had been released. She went from being adored to being shunned to the point that even Itachiyama had closed its doors on her.

But wasn’t that what you wanted?

You’d been so desperate to keep Kiyoomi away from her grasp. Now, you’d succeeded. Iris had left, your room was now yours again, and any traces of the brunette finally disappeared.

And yet... why did none of it feel good? You weren’t proud, weren’t happy.

Outside, the commotion was no less intense. The air was thick with whispers and hurried conversations, the scent of scandal permeating every corner of the palace grounds. Meanwhile, Kiyoomi watched it all unfurl with a cold dispassion, as if he was merely an observer.

Your heart ached with a pang of pity as you glanced at him, but there was no time to dwell on it. In the span of forty eight hours, he’d lost his wife, and was pushed to being another pawn again. That part you hadn’t thought through – Kiyoomi may have been freed from Iris, but who was to stop the Queen from marrying him off to another woman? The political crisis between Itachiyama and Inarizaki was temporarily resolved the last time he’d went there, when you went there, but that had been months. And now, with the recent issue of Itachiyama being shamed for having such ‘lowborn people’ like Iris, none of it was getting better.

A small voice in your head urged you to find Iris, to offer some semblance of comfort or understanding. Gripping the photograph tighter, you make your way to your car, wondering where Iris might have gone after experiencing such a public humiliation.

Just as you were about to open the car door, a firm hand grabbed your arm. You turned to see Kiyoomi right behind you, his face etched with a mixture of confusion and concern. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“I have to find Iris.”

“No,” his grip tightens with urgency, already slamming the car door shut behind you. “You shouldn’t go anywhere. It’s dangerous.”

“Dangerous? What’s going on?”

“She’s not going to let this end,” he murmurs silently, pulling you into his chest as he looks around warily. He didn’t need to elaborate; the gravity of the moment was clear. The scandal, the disgrace, it was spreading like wildfire. There was no telling where it would end or what further damage might be done.

“Kiyoomi... Did I do the right thing?” you ask him, brow furrowing as your palms grew sweaty. “I-I didn’t mean for it to go this far. I know it would’ve gotten your marriage annulled with her, but... I don’t know what they’re going to do her, Omi. Will she be alright out there?”

Kiyoomi’s lips press into a thin line. “She will be, but I can’t guarantee things will stay the same,” he pauses, as if hesitating, then reaches to comb his hair back. “Listen. Iris is not going to take any of this lightly. There’s no telling what she will do next, but I can guarantee that none of us are safe here.”

You bite your lip, pondering it before you decided, “I still need to go.”

“Where will you go?” Kiyoomi lets go of your hand, not wanting to stop you, but not entirely willing to let you leave either. Instead, his shoulders sagged, his eyes pleading. “Just... Stay here with me. Or at least let me accompany you.”

You shook your head. You’d just freed Kiyoomi from the ties that bound him; if you dragged him with you again, then this would never end. This was something you had to solve for yourself, but if Iris couldn’t be found , then you had to start with him. “I need to find Rintaro. He still has a child with her, Omi. We don’t know how he’s handling the situation right now.”

Kiyoomi’s lips pressed into a thin line. Sighing through his nose, he seemed to have an internal debate before he closes his eyes. “Okay. I’ll come with you.”

“No, it’s...” you insisted, “I think you should stay behind.”

Silence stretches between you both. For a moment, it looks like Kiyoomi wanted to say more, but chose not to. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t hurt you – the way he closed off on himself, his walls put up so high you could barely look past it. But what could you do? And Kiyoomi, too, must’ve known this was a losing game. Forcing a smile on his face, he nods.

“Call me if you need anything.”

You smile at him gratefully, photograph still clutched to your chest before opening the car door. Then, you sped out of the driveway and called Rintaro, unsurprised that it went straight to voicemail. You tried asking the twins, even Kita, anyone who might’ve known where your husband was. But alas, none of them had the slightest clue. The last they saw of him was just before Iris was taken away by the guards, hovering behind her with an impassive look on his face.

He’d shortly disappeared after that. None of your texts and calls came through.

Jaw clenched, you turned on the location tracker you’d placed on his phone that time before you left for Itachiyama, mindlessly turning on the radio in case there’d been any reported sightings. You tuned in, letting the music fill the space in the air.

You gripped the steering wheel, your knuckles stiff with tension. You’d been driving for what seemed like hours now, eyes scanning the roads and alleys, searching for any sign of Rintaro. Fatigue weighed heavily on you now that the sun had long set, your eyelids drooping and your body aching from being sat for so long. Still, the tracker on your phone remained stubbornly blank, offering no direction to head in.

Just as you decided to turn back, the car radio crackled to life. The unmistakable voice of Iris filled the vehicle. You immediately went still, your heart pounding in your chest. You quickly pulled over to the side of the road, your breath catching as you listened intently.

Greetings, citizens of Inarizaki. It is I, Iris Amari, your former Princess and representative of Itachiyama. As you all know, I have recently been stripped of my titles now that the history behind my mother’s sudden disappearance has been uncovered.

A short pause.

I confess that I am guilty of manipulating the Crown Prince out of my boredom. The truth is, I was in a loveless marriage with the Second Prince, and I was lonely in the Palace when my husband would leave me to entertain myself for weeks, sometimes months on end. A lonely woman could only endure so much, and the Crown Prince was always there – warm, welcoming, and as lovely as he’d been when we met during our school years. I couldn’t help but seek out his company, even when he’d already married the Yuzuru heiress. After all, I knew my marriage with the Second Prince was hopeless. He would never speak to me, much less look my way – an arrangement I was satisfied with as long as it meant I could remain being a Princess.

You leant back in your seat, gnawing at your lip as you hung on to every word she said.

Now, to answer the question everyone has been dying to know: how did a no-name foreigner like me marry into the Royal Family? The truth is simple. I am the King’s only daughter, and Her Majesty the Queen manipulated my desperate, lovesick, and heartbroken mother to do her bidding. They’d both been victims of the King, their hearts toyed with until they were fueled with anger.

Your grip on the steering wheel loosened. Glancing at Iris’ photograph on the passenger seat, you stared hard at her features – green eyes, loose and dark wavy hair, almost with the same pattern of Kiyoomi’s curls. Looking at her now, Iris had always looked so... familiar. And that thought – or realization – alone, had your mouth drying.

But if they were both the King’s children, and they were married... A gasp fell from your lips.

Was that why Kiyoomi refused to touch her? Why he’d looked at her, repulsed and paling like she was vermin? It hadn’t been because she was, but rather because she was his sister.

The Queen, having had enough of her husband’s affairs and mistreatments, ordered my mother to murder him under the promise she would welcome me into the Palace. My mother did as she was told, concerned only with securing her daughter’s future, but the Queen betrayed us. Shortly after the King died, the Queen banished my mother from Inarizaki and put her behind bars to ensure her silence.

As a last resort to somewhat keep her end of the deal, she then enrolled me in Inarizaki Private Royal Academy to learn about how to run the country as a future Princess. Years later, after I graduated, she arranged my marriage with Prince Kiyoomi, my half-brother.

Now this all begs the question regarding the recent cheating scandal of the Crown Prince: if I’d known all this time that I was the King’s daughter, did I not seduce my own blood and flesh?

You may think so, but the Queen keeps a plethora of lies to keep this Kingdom running – one of her secrets being that she never had a child with the Late King, and Crown Prince Rintaro is nothing but a fraud. He is not of royal flesh and blood. He is nothing but a boy picked up on the streets to become the Queen’s puppet.

When the announcement ended, the music previously playing stuttered before continuing to where it left off. You sat there, stunned in silence with your mind reacing.

The sound of your heartbeat filled your ears, loud enough that it pulsed with the vehicle’s hum. Suddenly, your phone flashed with a notification – the tracker had located Rintaro. Adrenaline surged through you, and you slammed your foot on the gas, the car lurching forward as you sped off.

Now that Rintaro’s secret was out, you needed to find him first before the police did.

You drove through the dimly lit streets, your surroundings growing increasingly desolate. The familiar cityscape gave way to the outskirts, a labyrinth of abandoned warehouses and crumbling buildings. Shadows loomed large, casting eerie shapes that seemed to dance in the periphery of your vision. Your anxiety grew with each passing mile, the unease settling like a heavy weight in your chest.

Gripping the steering wheel tighter, you forced yourself to take a deep breath.

The once smooth road turned rough and pitted, each bump jarring your already frazzled nerves. The neon glow of the city was long behind you, now replaced by the flickering, sporadic streetlights that only deepened the shadows.

After what felt like forever, you’d finally reached your destination – a decrepit building that looked to have been abandoned for years. The windows were boarded up, and graffiti marred its exterior. Despite its appearance, the low thump of music resonated through the walls, a steady, booming pulse that hinted at life within. You parked your car and stepped out, your eyes darting around the unfamiliar surroundings.

The building loomed over you, dark and foreboding. You balled your fists at your sides, trying to steady your frantically racing heart.

As you approached the entrance, you were greeted by a hulking figure. “You got a pass?”

You blinked your eyes up at the bouncer, standing guard. He was imposing, his large, hulking arms crossed over his chest. “Uh,” you licked your dry lips, vaguely realizing a little too late that you’re inappropriately dressed for this event – pearl necklace, diamond earrings, and a silk below-the-knee champagne coloured dress. “N-No, I don’t.”

“Then I’m sorry, Miss, you can’t enter. This is an invite-only party.”

You’re already fiddling with your purse. “How much?” you raised your brows, daring the bouncer to continue smirking when he noticed the seriousness on your face. “Name me your price.” He was quick to mention the numbers, and without sparing him another glance, you shoved a wad of cash – with extra – to his tattooed hands.

The bouncer’s smirk grew wider, satisfied as he pockets the bills. “Welcome to Ecstasy. Enjoy your stay. If you don’t have a mask yet, someone at the counter will give you one. At the right price.”

Rolling your eyes, you pushed past him and through the doors. The music grew louder as you neared, its relentless beat matching the pounding of your heart. You squared your shoulders, prepared to face whatever lay behind the doors of this unsettling, hidden nightclub. What the hell was Rintaro doing here?

The deeper you entered the club, the louder the music got. The air was thick with the scent of sweat, alcohol, and something else you couldn’t quite place. The interior was a chaotic blend of darkness and vibrant neon lights, flashing in sync with the pounding bass of the music – loud enough to give you a headache. The colors danced erratically, casting shifting shadows across the grinding bodies across the room.

Everywhere you looked, people were hidden behind masks, their identities obscured in a surreal modern-era masquerade.

The masks ranged from simple to elaborate, animal-themed, Venetian, some grotesque. Yours was a simple bunny-mask, its ears protruding at the sides and the nose wide enough to cover a fraction of your eyes. You understood now why Rintaro chose to be here – the anonymity gave the revelers a sense of freedom, their movements uninhibited and wild. Everyone danced with abandon, bodies pressed close together as they moved as one with the beat. In the corners, couples were locked in passionate embraces, their hands trailing in places it shouldn’t be – completely oblivious to the world around them.

Discomfort washed over you as you navigated through the crowd.

The noise was overwhelming, a constant assault on your senses. Your formal attire, elegant and out of place, drew curious and sometimes hungry stares from the masked partygoers. Your feeble attempt in donning the bunny mask did little to hide your unease.

You pushed through the crowd, determined to find Rintaro.

Men in masks turned to watch you, their gazes lingering too long for comfort. You quickened your pace, ignoring the murmurs and the eyes that followed your every move. The flashing lights made it hard to see clearly, but you couldn’t back out now. You’d already reached this far. There was no way you were going to leave this hellish place without your husband in tow.

Finally, you spotted a tuft of dark, unruly hair.

Rintaro sat slumped at the bar, nursing a drink as his head bobbed in time to the rhythm of the music. He looked weary and lost, a stark contrast to the frenzy around him. Relief washed over you as you made your way beside him, the chaotic energy of the club seemingly fading in the background. You reached out to him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder in hopes to draw him out of his stupor and back to you.

When he finally turned to you, you were met with his familiar hazel eyes – ones that bordered more on green than brown. He looked exhausted; dark circles visible even behind his wolf-shaped mask, the whiskers nearly comical as it draped on the sides. You grinned at him, relieved to have found him safe and sound. Throwing your arms around him – or more like attempted to – you found yourself gently shoved back, your lower back connecting with the stool behind you.

“Don’t touch me,” he sneers, his words slurred. “My wife won’t like it if she sees you.”

You frowned at him, rubbing at the sore spot at your back. “Don’t be stupid. We need to go home. Now.”

Rintaro throws his head back in laughter, gesturing to the bartender for another refill. Once his glass was full again, he took slow, deliberate sips – his face impassive and his eyes cold. “The night is too young. Why would I want to leave?” he murmurs more to himself than you, his gaze narrowing at your hunched figure beside him. He stares, hard, making you squirm beneath the mask. But Rintaro simply sniffs, pointing his drink in your direction. “You look awfully familiar.”

“That’s because I’m your wife. Now let’s go.”

“My wife, huh? Now I know you’re lying,” he shakes his head to himself, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he downs his drink in one go. “My wife would never look for me, and she’d never come to a place like this. She’s a little too good for everybody. A little too great for the likes of us. Even for someone like me.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re not going to believe this, but I recently just found out that I’m–” he closes the distance between you, close enough that his cologne and the stench of alcohol overwhelms you. Then, he cups his palm around his mouth as if to say a secret, his mouth dangerously close to your ear as his voice drops. “–Adopted. Or kidnapped, if we’re going to be precise. Fucked up, right? But you want to know what’s even more fucked up? It’s that I genuinely thought I was this great, praise-worthy Prince who deserved no one better but my wife. And I–” his chuckles grew louder, the humour in them absent, “–I ruined it. Ruined her life. Because she doesn’t even know that she married some stupid, lowborn gardener’s son.”

You frowned at his words. Crossing your arms against your chest, you spun on your stool and faced him directly, snatching the glass from his hand before he could ask for another refill. This time around, Rintaro doesn’t protest. Just slumps further against the bar’s counter.

“Don’t talk like that. I’m sure she doesn’t think of you any differently.”

“She already does. She can barely stand to be in the same room as me,” he sighs, his head buried in his arms before him. Sleepily, and drunk out of his mind, he gazes up at you under his lashes – the sadness deep and prominent within his eyes. “She could’ve married someone else if I never came into her world, you know? She could’ve married a Lord, or-or a Duke. Hell, she could have been a Princess from another Kingdom. She deserved all that and more. Instead she’s stuck with me and I–” his breaths stuttered, “–I’m no one.”

That was it. You’d had enough of his pity party. Did he really come all the way here just to feel bad about himself? Sliding the glass towards the bartender’s way, you grabbed Rintaro by the arm, heaving at his nearly dead weight. “Rin. Please. Let’s go home.”

“I have no home,” he whines, and it’s only now you notice the tears glistening in his eyes. “I don’t have a wife, I lost my girlfriend who’s pregnant with my child, and I – where would I go? There’s no place for me here.”

“You could go with me.”

“You’re not my wife. I don’t want to go anywhere without her.”

“Rintaro, I am your wife,” you repeat, shoving your left hand right in front of his face. He’s immediately entranced by the sight, and leans into the curve of your palm. “We wear the same rings, see? It’s me.”

The sigh he lets out is dreamy. “Yeah, I’m not sober enough for this. Now I’m seeing her too.”

Pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration, you lead him back to the bar, and help him sit down without falling on his bottom. “Okay, how about this? I get you a few more drinks, and then I’ll take you back to your wife, alright? I heard the Princess was looking for you.”

Rintaro’s sniffles grow louder as he avoids your gaze. “Why would she? She’s happier now that she’s with Kiyoomi. He’s the better man, anyway, better than me in all aspects.”

The memory of Kiyoomi’s lips flashed through your mind. Faintly, you wondered if this was considered hurting Kiyoomi’s feelings – running after your husband, and tending to him when he was not in his right mind. Just the thought of Kiyoomi patiently waiting for you back at Belleview Manor broke your heart. Or maybe he paced back and forth, anxiously opening his phone every minute to check if you’d updated again – you hadn’t.

But you would return, that you knew. The past few days with him – no, everything had made your decision clear. Regardless of whatever happened next… if Rintaro would be taken away by the police, or if the Queen disposed of him first, you’d already made your mind.

You were going to choose Kiyoomi.

But tonight… tonight, Rintaro needed you. Cupping his face in your hands, you levelled his gaze with yours, putting on your warmest smile – just like how you always did whenever Rintaro ran to you, worried and burdened with his day’s work. Even if he couldn’t truly recognize you, at least your touch would – hopefully – be familiar enough. “She’s worried for you, and she sent me here to take you home. She said she wants to talk.”

“She still wants to talk to me?”

Your heart ached. You’d never heard Rintaro sound this… helpless before, and at the same time hopeful. “Of course, Rin. Always.”

“Fine,” he relents, “but you’re paying for my drinks.”

You discreetly signal to the bartender, sliding over a generous amount of cash to cover all the drinks he’d ‘ordered.’ Thankfully, he understands your silent plea, nodding and begins to serve him water instead. Rintaro, too lost in his own world, didn’t seem to notice the change as he continued to down glass after glass.

Once he had reached his limit, you gently took his arm, guiding him away from the bar and through the club. To say the journey back to your car was arduous was an understatement. Rintaro kept leaning heavily on you, his weight almost too much for you to bear. His stumbling steps made your own balance precarious, especially in your delicate kitten heels. You gritted your teeth, determined to keep you both upright as you navigated the crowded, uneven terrain outside the club.

The rocky pavement outside made the task a lot more challenging than it should be. Each step was a battle, your husband’s larger frame swaying with each faltering step. You glanced around, spotting one of his cars parked far away, but you ignored it and focused on bringing him to yours instead. You’d just have to take care of the traces he left later.

With great effort – and a lot of sweat – you finally managed to get him to your car. You opened the back door, easing him inside. Rintaro whined and resisted, but you persisted, swatting his hands away to get him settled.

You managed to manoeuvre him into the backseat, checking twice to ensure he was comfortable enough before closing the door. Before you could, Rintaro suddenly reached out to you, his fingers tugging at your sleeves. “Wait,” he pleads, his eyes huge and vulnerable.

“What?”

“Need to... need to look good,” he rambled on, stretching his long legs at the backseat and tugging at his own shirt. The material is already wrinkled beyond belief, the top buttons undone. He keeps fidgeting with it, grabbing your hands to help him fix it. Stunned, your hands hover awkwardly over his chest – unsure if buttoning it up for him would be enough to satisfy him. “Do I look good? Don’t wanna – don’t wanna look drunk. She’ll get mad. Don’t want my wife seeing me like this.”

Your cheeks warmed at his words. Sighing, you reached over and closed the top buttons, patting his chest down as if to say ‘there you go.’ “You look fine. Stop grumbling.”

Convinced enough, Rintaro stops fidgeting. You were about to close the car door once more when he suddenly pulled you next to him. You squealed, barely catching your balance as you fell beside him. In one, swift movement, Rintaro had laid down and rested his head on your lap, his long legs awkwardly curled beneath him. There, he sighs, his large hands fisting your dress as you sit still – unable to move.

 “Just a few more hours, please? I want to sleep.”

You agree, finding it difficult to say no when Rintaro was so… clingy like this. It wasn’t like you could return to the Palace, anyway. Rintaro would most likely be a target of the Police, and the entire government now that everyone knows he was a fraud. He didn’t need to go back to that. You’d rather keep him here – in your lap, safe and sleepy and warm. Unable to help it, you run your hands through his hair, carding your fingers through the strands and raking your nails against his scalp. It causes him to purr like a cat, the sound entertaining before he buries himself closer to your stomach.

 “...Nice.”

“What?”

“Said you smell nice. Smell like my wife.”

The morning sunlight filtered through the car windows, its warmth gently jostling you awake. You blinked blearily, momentarily disoriented as you realized you’d fallen asleep. As you tried to move, you noticed the weight on your lap.

Rintaro was asleep there, his face relaxed and peaceful. The harsh lines of stress and pain that usually marked his features were smoothed away as he slumbers, making him appear younger, almost innocent.

You stared at him for a little longer, captivated by the rare serenity in his expression. Your fingers began to move on their own accord, gently caressing his cheek. His skin was warm under your touch, and you marvelled at how different he looked now. In sleep, he seemed free from the burdens that weighed so heavily on him during his waking hours. But now? Your heart softened as you traced the line of his jaw, wishing you could freeze this moment in time – preserve this fleeting glimpse of the man you had once fallen madly in love with.

You hesitated in waking him up, choosing instead to let him rest a little longer.

Carefully, you reached for your purse, digging through it to find your phone. The screen lit up with several missed calls and a flurry of texts from your parents, their messages frantic and pleading for you to answer and tell them where you were. Amongst the many notifications, messages from Kiyoomi caught your eye. His last message read, “please… please tell me you’re safe.”

Your heart ached at his worry, but another message drew your attention. It was from Kuroo, his message short yet ominous: “Princess, I didn’t write this, but I think you should take a look.”

With shaky hands, you clicked on the link. As the article loaded, your anxiety surged – a cold dread settling in the pit of your stomach. You glanced down at Rintaro, still peacefully asleep, oblivious to the turmoil that awaited you both.

𝐒𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐥 𝐄𝐫𝐮𝐩𝐭𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐈𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐚𝐤𝐢: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐐𝐮𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐒𝐞𝐢𝐳𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐑𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐲, 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐚’𝐬 𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭 𝐄𝐱𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝

In a dramatic turn of events that has left the kingdom of Inarizaki reeling, the Queen has been seized by government officials following the revelation of her involvement in heinous crimes. The charges against Her Majesty are severe and include conspiracy to commit murder, kidnapping, and fraud. This unprecedented upheaval marks a dark chapter in Inarizaki's royal history. The Queen stands accused of orchestrating the murder of her own husband, the late King, in a desperate bid to retain power. This shocking revelation came to light after a thorough investigation uncovered irrefutable evidence of her culpability. Additionally, it has been revealed that the Queen kidnapped an innocent baby, presenting him as the Crown Prince to solidify her control over the throne. This child, now known as Suna Rintaro, has been living under the false pretense of royal blood. The official charges against the Queen include: Conspiracy to Commit Murder, Kidnapping, Fraud, and High Treason. Government officials have acted swiftly, seizing Her Majesty and beginning the legal proceedings that will determine her fate. The palace is in turmoil as the full extent of her crimes comes to light. As the kingdom grapples with the Queen's treachery, another scandal has emerged, further destabilizing the royal family. Hours after former Princess Iris publicly revealed her true lineage, incriminating photos of Princess Suna, wife of Suna Rintaro, have surfaced. These photos, taken within the privacy of Belleview Manor, show Prince Kiyoomi and the Crown Prince's wife in a compromising and passionate embrace, confirming longstanding rumors of a cross-marriage affair. The scandal does not end there. Additional evidence has surfaced showing Princess Suna meeting with Kuroo Tetsuro, the notorious journalist responsible for exposing Iris and Rintaro’s affair. In these meetings, Princess Suna is seen paying Kuroo substantial sums of money, effectively funding his comfortable life abroad. It is now evident that Princess Suna orchestrated the recent articles that have shaken the kingdom, making her a clear threat and an enemy of the Crown. The public and government officials are now united in their stance: Princess Suna and Suna Rintaro must be stripped of their titles and exiled from Inarizaki. Their actions have sown discord and threatened the stability of the kingdom, and such betrayal cannot be tolerated. As Inarizaki faces this turbulent time, the hope for a restored and honest royal lineage is strong. The kingdom looks to the future, determined to heal and rebuild in the wake of these revelations. This story is still developing, and we will continue to provide updates as more information becomes available.

Panic surged through you as the article’s revelation settled in.

Your breath came in quick, shallow gasps, each one more frantic than the last. You felt your chest tighten,, your heart pounding so hard as if it would burst. Desperation clawed at you, and you knew you had to get out of the car.

As gently as you could, you pushed Rintaro’s head off your lap, careful not to disrupt his sleep. He stirred slightly, but otherwise remained unconscious. You opened the door and stumbled out onto the pavement, your legs barely supporting you as you fell to your knees. The cold, hard ground bit into your skin, but the sensation was distant – the pain faint compared to the panic that was now beginning to consume you.

Your breaths were coming in ragged, uneven bursts now, your vision blurring with tears.

You pressed a hand to your chest, trying to steady yourself as the world spun around you. You knew, without a doubt, that your own Kingdom had already turned against you.

With trembling fingers, you fumbled for your phone. You needed to hear his voice – the one person who could ground you, who could make you feel safe in the midst of all this mess. You found his contact and dialled, holding the phone to your ear with a grip so tight your knuckles turned white. Finally, the call connected, and you breathed out, letting the faint sound of Kiyoomi fumbling in the background like a lifeline.

“Kiyoomi?”

“Thank God you picked up. You weren’t answering any of my calls.”

You closed your eyes, focusing on each word, each comforting tone as you anchored yourself in the present. The world around you began to slow, your breathing gradually evening out. You took a deep, shaky breath, drawing strength from Kiyoomi’s presence, even if it was just through the phone.

“I-I don’t know what to do, Kiyoomi. What’s going on?”

Kiyoomi sighed from the other line. “It’s just as the news said. The Queen is being held by the government to answer for her crimes and you... you’re no longer allowed to return to the Palace. You’ve been deposed.”

“But that’s – that can’t happen. There should be a procedure, a legal procedure before they can strip me off my title!”

“I know, but with everything going on in the country right now, the officials have all decided to skip the formalities and proceed with making any unjust royal family member out of the Palace as soon as possible. You included,” more shuffling rings through the phone, and you hear a car door slamming shut. “But don’t worry, I’m heading out of the Palace right now. Tell me where you are. I’ll come find you.”

Nodding even if Kiyoomi couldn’t see it, you move to send him your location when your phone was suddenly ripped out from your hand. You watched, mouth agape, as Rintaro throws it to the ground and crushes it with the weight of his foot. You scrambled to stand up, fire raging in your veins as you looked at him – Rintaro was now awake, his hair still messed up from sleep, but his eyes were big and bright, like he’d been riding on a high.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“I should be asking you that,” Rintaro glared at you, all the previous softness disappearing from his face. “Are you out of your mind? The news said we’re exiled. And you’re just giving our location to Kiyoomi like that?”

“That’s Kiyoomi! I trust him!”

“He’s a Prince, a member of the Royal Family – the same family you’re no longer a part of. I don’t care if you think you can trust him, there’s nothing he can do for you.”

“Oh, but you can do something about it?”

Rin flinched like he’d been slapped. Still, he kept his composure, his hands planted on his hips as he sighed and looked around you. You were nearly in the middle of nowhere – in the outskirts of the city, far from the inquisitive gaze of the Palace. It was almost hard to believe how so much had happened in such a short span of time, but Kiyoomi was right. Iris wouldn’t let it end there. If she was going to fall, she was going to take everyone down with her.

“I can’t help you, but you heard what they said. I’m exiled – I’m leaving this damned country.”

Your husband slammed the car door shut, and began to walk towards his car. “Rin,” you called out to him, taking two steps at a time to match his pace. “Rin, would you please just stop? Let’s talk!”

“There’s nothing to talk about!”

You stopped in your tracks, surprised when he’d turned your away. Rintaro’s face was flushed red, the vein on his neck prominent. “Why are you so angry? Oh, is it because your plans have been ruined and you can’t become King anymore, is that it? Because Iris is gone now, and you can’t have her?”

“Seriously? After all this time, you still can’t get over that?”

The laugh you let out is incredulous. “How can I? You kicked me out of our room a few days ago because you said you wanted to take care of her!”

Rintaro’s face hardens. “I didn’t mean that.”

“Well, thank you so much for telling me, because that totally changes everything,” you throw your hands up in the air, stomping to where he stood just to sneer at his face. “You really expect me to believe you stopped caring about her? The moment your girlfriend was kicked out of the Palace, what did you do? Oh, right. You went to some dingy, ‘exclusive’ anonymous nightclub and got drunk out of your mind. I think its crystal clear you needed a distraction from the pain of losing her.”

Rintaro scoffed, baring his teeth as he takes on your challenge and comes closer, your noses brushing. “What pain? I couldn’t care less that she’s gone. She never loved me anyway.”

“Then why drink yourself half to death last night? You could’ve been in real danger if I didn’t come looking for you.”

“You shouldn’t have, then.”

“A thank you would suffice.”

Rintaro’s face hardens. He takes more steps, forcing you to walk backwards until you were back to where you started – your back hitting the edge of your car. He looms over you, his eyes shining with something you couldn’t decipher. “Why did you look for me, huh? My mistress is gone. She’s out of your hair, and you could’ve had everything you wanted. Why else bother looking for me when all I did was hurt you?”

He practically forces the confession out of you. “Because I was worried about you!”

In an instant, Rintaro’s heat disappears. He flings himself backward like you’d burned him, frowning as he stares you incredulously. Then, he lets out a laugh that sounded more like a pained choke. “You are many things, but I never thought you could be a liar.”

“Liar? What are you talking about?”

He meets your gaze, his eyes cold and daring. “You don’t care about me.”

“Yes, I do!”

“No, you don’t! You know the truth, Y/N. I’m not a Prince – never have been, and never will be. You couldn’t possibly care for a fraud. You know it, too. I’m a nobody, and you were always better than me.”

Rintaro’s words hung in the air, each one landing with a weight that nearly suffocated you. Was that how he thought of you the whole time? That you’d... hated him? Thought of him differently because he wasn’t the King’s son? The very notion left you appalled. The ground beneath you felt like it shifted, your heart clenching painfully at the broken expression he wore. Shame, guilt – it all swam in the dark pools of his eyes, mingling with sorrow as you stared at him.

How could he think that, after everything?

His voice carried defeat, almost as if he wanted you to hate him, as if he believed it would make things easier.

The realization itself twisted something deep inside you. You didn’t hate him – not even close. Maybe you hated what he did, the lies that he’d kept and the facade he’d put on, pretending that he’d loved you when he didn’t. But him not being the King’s son? What did that change? Stood before you was still Rintaro, not Suna, the man you’d adored and cursed from the moon and the back. The thought that he’d been carrying this belief, suffering under it, cut you more deeply than any betrayal. Somehow, this hurt more than finding out he had another.

The fact that this whole time, Rintaro truly believed you looked down on him for not being a Prince. How could he have been so wrong?

The breath was knocked out of you, your shoulders deflating as every muscle in your body softened. “You may not be a Prince, but you’re still my husband. I still care.”

You watched the change in his expression as the words left your lips.

His eyes widened in shock, the disbelief evident against the relief that slowly unfurled across his face. It was as if a heavy weight had been lifted from his chest, his breath catching in his throat. But beneath that relief, confusion lingered, the doubts overshadowing your confession. It was as if he was trying to convince himself that you were wrong, that you should hate him, that your kindness was a mistake.

You could see it all – how Rintaro desperately wanted to believe you, yet he still clung to the pain of his insecurities like it was all he knew.

“If you care so much,” his voice broke as he spoke, “Then why did you kiss Kiyoomi?”

His question struck you like a blow to the chest. The words echoed in your mind, rendering you frozen in place. How could you answer that? How could you justify what you’d done? You could say you didn’t mean it, that you’d regretted it, but that would be a lie. You’d wanted to kiss Kiyoomi. It was a long overdue kiss, and until now, you still wanted to run back into his arms and have him tell you everything would be okay.

And that must show in your face – your blatant infatuation with the Second Prince. Rintaro’s face was a mixture of hurt and confusion as his gaze landed on your lips, probably picturing the way you’d kissed someone else. It made you feel small, like a child caught with their hand deep in a cookie jar. Your mind race, searching for an explanation, a way to make him understand, but all you could feel was the crushing sense of betrayal you’d inflicted on him – on both of you.

The truth was too messy, one that you couldn’t explain yourself. You cared for Rintaro, would do anything to protect him and save him from the mess he’d been tangled in. But you also loved Kiyoomi, loved tangling your hands in his curls, and laying your head on his chest to hear his heartbeat. You would fight a far for your husband, but when that war was over?

You would run straight home to Kiyoomi.

Still, you wanted to reach out. To say something, anything, that would take away the pain in his eyes, but the words were lodged deep in your throat. All you could do was stare at him, realizing too late you had hurt him in a way that might never fully feal.

“So you love him,” he concluded, and when you didn’t refuse, Rintaro nodded to himself – letting the words sink in. One of his hands were planted on his hips, the other fisted on his lip with his brows furrowed. “Was it... was it after I kicked you off to Belleview Manor? Or has it... have you liked him for longer than that?”

Since Itachiyama, you wanted to say, almost apologetically, since the day you kept choosing her over me.

Just as you opened your mouth to speak, a distant rumble interrupted the silence, growing louder and more distinct with each passing second. You barely had time to process it before Rintaro moved, his hand suddenly gripping your arm with a firm urgency.

Rintaro pulled you down, hiding you both behind the car. You followed his lead, heart pounding in your chest as you pressed your face against his back, the creases of his shirt bundled in your palms. Crouched low, the cold pavement pressing against your knees, you watched as he cautiously peeked over the car’s hood, his eyes narrowing in concentration. The sound of engines grew louder, more ominous – like the sound of your end nearing. You dared to peek from above Rintaro’s shoulder until you could make out the distinct patterns of royal emblems on some of the vehicles, followed closely by the flashing lights of police cars.

Fear gripped at you. You could feel your heart pulsing all the way up to your tongue, your breaths coming faster as you glanced at your husband. Rintaro’s expression mirrored your panic, eyes wide and intense.

The vehicles were closing in, fast and steady, like predators hunting their prey. You both knew that your time was running out, that you were no longer Prince and Princess. Exiled. Dethroned. Hunted like the lowly criminals you both were.

Rintaro wasted no time. He yanked you up as gently as he could by your wrist, guiding you into the passenger’s seat before he slammed the door close, and hopped onto the driver’s side. His movements are frantic as he started up the car, letting the engine hum fill the vehicle. “Wear your seatbelt.”

“But Rin, you were just drunk last night–”

The engine roared to life as Rintaro slammed his foot onto the gas pedal. “I’m fine now, and I drive faster than you. You know that. Wear your seatbelt.”

The car lurched forward, tires screeching against the pavement. You felt your body press back into the seat as your heart pounded in time with the racing vehicle. The world outside blurred into a streak of colours as you shot down the road, the cool morning air rushing in through the partially open windows.

You could hear the shriek of sirens behind you, the vehicles in pursuit closing in fast.

Adrenaline surged through your veins, sharp and intoxicating, as your mind raced to keep up with the unfolding chaos. This was real. This was happening. You were no longer just royals entangled in a web of lies and deceit – you were fugitives now, running from a government that once hailed you as symbols of hope and power.

Rintaro’s hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles white as he weaved through the narrow streets with a precision born of desperation. Each sharp turn sent her stomach lurching, the tires skidding dangerously close to the edges of the road. You cried out his name, and Rintaro hissed as he swerved back to safety. You could see the cityscape flashing by in jagged, disorienting bursts – the familiar landmarks rendered alien the further you flew away.

The vehicles behind you were relentless, engines howling as they sped after you with unyielding force. The sirens were deafening, mocking.

You glanced over at Rintaro, seeing the intense focus etched into his features, the slight tremor in his jaw as he pushed the car harder, faster, willing it to escape the grip of your pursuers.

The realization hit you like a physical blow – you were criminals now. Your life of luxury, of duty, and privilege, it was all over. Everything you had known, everything you had believed in, was crumbling away behind you, left in the dust of your panicked escape. There was no going back now, no return to the life you once had. You would have to leave everything behind – the Palace, the titles, your parents, Kiyoomi.

The car swerved violently as Rintaro took a sharp corner, the tires screeching as you fought for traction. The chase had spilled deeper into the outskirts of the city, where the streets were narrower, the buildings older and more decrepit. The vibrant pulse of the city was fading, giving way to a desolate stretch of road that seemed to go on forever, before it disappeared into the horizon like a thin thread of hope.

Beside you, Rintaro’s face was set in grim desperation, his eyes locked on the road ahead as the car surged forward, fuelled by the desperate need to escape. You could feel the tension in the air, the unspoken understanding between you that this was your only chance.

And with that, you accepted your fate.

This was the path you had chosen – no, the path that been forced upon you. The chase continued, the world outside becoming a blur of speed and danger. You braced yourself for whatever lay ahead, knowing that nothing would ever be the same again.

“They’re getting close,” Rintaro said through gritted teeth. One glance at the rear view mirror confirmed your worst fears; they were closing in on you, and that meant the end was nearing. You knew without a doubt that as soon as the government laid their hands on you, everything was over. Rintaro would be exiled, or worse, executed for infiltrating the sacred walls of the Palace – even if it hadn’t been his fault. And you would lose everything, everyone, that you ever cared about. You couldn’t let that happen. “Fuck! I need something to get them off my tail!”

You moved without thinking.

Reaching for the gun secretly stashed in the glove compartment, you quickly rolled the windows down, the upper half of your body carefully sliding out as you unlatched the seatbelt. “Hey!” Rintaro shouted, “What are you doing? Get back! It’s not safe!”

“I’m still the General’s daughter. They won’t shoot,” eyes narrowed, you aimed at the nearest police car who’d been hot on your heels. There was only a few inches left before they could bump into you. “But I will.”

There was no time for hesitation, no room for doubt.

The rush of the wind whipped through the car, pulling at your skin and stinging your eyes. Your finger hovered over the trigger, the world narrowing down to the police car’s tire, spinning so fast it seemed almost like a blur.

You fired.

The crack of the gunshot echoed in your years, the sound so loud it was deafening. You watched as the bullet hit its mark, the tire exploding in a burst of rubber and metal. The police car veered wildly, the driver losing control as the vehicle swerved violently across the road. Then, with a sickening lurch, it tumbled over, metal screeching against asphalt as it rolled, flipping end over end before it crashed into the guardrail. The screech of tires and the crash of metal filled the air as the cars behind it desperately slammed on their brakes, unable to avoid the wreckage. One by one, they collided, a chaotic pileup of twisted metal and broken glass until the entire road was blocked.

You slid back into your seat, your breathing ragged, your chest painfully tight.

Your hands were still shaking, the gun trembling in your grasp. Cold sweat dotted your skin, the adrenaline pumping through your veins as you stared at wreckage left behind you. The pursuing cars had been held back, unable to continue the chase.

The road was clear.

Rintaro pressed down harder on the gas, sending the car forward with renewed speed. The roar of the engine filled the car, its sound fierce and almost primal. You could feel the velocity pulling you back into your seat, your body slamming onto the leather.

As the wreckage disappeared from view, the chaotic noise behind you fading into the distance, you let out a shaky breath. You glanced down at the gun in your hands, the metal still cool against your skin despite the heat of the moment. It had been necessary, but the reality of what you had done settling heavily. You exhaled, trying to calm the trembling in your hands.

Rintaro eyed you from his seat, his jaw clenched before he glanced back at the road. “Do you know what you just did?” You nodded, tears now brimming at your lash line. “You’ve just officially declared that we’re at war with the country. They’re never going to let us go.”

“I know,” you were crying now – the tears unstoppable as you pressed your palms against your eyes. “I know.”

Rintaro was quiet for a moment. So quiet you wondered if he was still there, and he was. The tension never left his face, and he never once slowed down in his speed. But he was calmer, in some ways, his face set into a determined frown. “We can’t go back. We can’t say goodbye to anyone anymore.”

You couldn’t say goodbye to Kiyoomi.

“Where are we going, Rin?”

“Far,” was all he says, and the road that stretched before you suddenly seemed endless. “Far, far away from here where they can’t hurt you.”

“You mean us.”

“Of course,” he stole a quick glance at you, surprising you when you saw how his face had softened. Almost as if he’d already accepted that the life he’d lived was never his, and he had nothing but the future ahead of himself. “I’ll keep you safe. I promise. But if you... if you tell me to turn back, I will. I’ll find a way to get you back to Kiyoomi–”

“No,” you interjected, and Rintaro’s eyes widened. “I... I’m staying with you.”

Rintaro’s eyes scanned your face, looking for the answers. “Are you absolutely certain? You don’t have to, you know. This country can still forgive you, they can love you still–”

“I’m staying with you.”

“Okay,” he nodded, his face unreadable under the faint morning light. “Okay. It’s you and me.”

The decision to leave wasn’t easy.

It clawed at you, gnawed at the very fabric of your being, but you knew – deep down, in the place where love was both cruel and kind – that you couldn’t stay. You wanted to fight, to clear your name and prove to the world that you were innocent, to stand in front of the kingdom with your head held high. You wanted to see your parents again, feel their arms around you, hear their voices assure you that everything would be okay.

But even as these thoughts plagued your mind, they were outweighed by something stronger, something inescapable.

You thought of him – Kiyoomi, the Prince you ended up falling for. The one who’d stolen your heart, not with grand gestures, but with quiet moments, gentle touches, and promises whispered in the dark. You still remembered the warmth of being in his arms, the way he looked at you with eyes that saw through your soul, the comfort you found in his presence, and the future you’d dared imagined together. You had given him his heart when it felt all was too late, and he had given you his the moment you laid your eyes on his. Each one of you were willing to sacrifice so much for the other – it just never occurred to you that you would sacrifice Kiyoomi now.

And it hurt.

It hurt more than you could have ever imagined. The thought of leaving Kiyoomi behind, of crushing the trust he’d given you, of severing the bond you had formed – was a pain so deep it nearly made you want to ask Rintaro to turn back. At least let me say goodbye. Let me look at him one last time. You wanted to stay with him, to choose him, to finally build the life with Kiyoomi that he’d promised, but you couldn’t. He didn’t even have the littlest idea that that had been your last conversation, the last time you’d hear each other’s voices.

Because there was another man – Rintaro, your husband. The one who, despite everything, still held a huge fraction of your heart.

He was the one who needed you now, and he didn’t have anyone else. You’d seen the despair in his eyes, the loneliness that consumed him, the way his eyes didn’t quite match what he said as it held the silent please for you to not abandon him, to not cast him aside like everyone had. You knew him well enough to understand that if you left, he would disappear – not just from the world, but from life itself.

Rintaro would slip away, fade into the shadows, and you would never find him again. You couldn’t let that happen. You couldn’t lose him like that.

So you chose him.

You chose to run away with him, to leave behind everything you’d known, everyone you’d loved. It was a choice born out of duty, of loyalty, and of the twisted love that still tied you to him. It was the right choice, not that it made it any easier. The ache in your heart would remain and scar you forever, haunted by the knowledge you would never see Kiyoomi again, never hold him, never tell him how much he’d meant to you.

It was a loss you would carry with you for the rest of your life.

But you couldn’t do it any other way, couldn’t have gone a different path and not think of Rintaro still. You wouldn’t forgive yourself if you’d left him alone, if you let him slip away into the darkness that beckoned him. Even if it meant sacrificing your own happiness, even if it meant leaving behind the one person who’d taught you to love again. You had to choose Rintaro, even if it came with the price of letting everything else go.

So you did.

You closed your eyes, took a deep breath, and made the choice you knew would tear you apart. You ran away. And as the world blurred around you, as you fled into the unknown, hand-in-hand with your husband, you couldn’t stop thinking of the Prince you’d left behind – the man who would always hold your heart in his hands, even if you could never return to him.

“You and me, Rin.”

[underdark-dreams]

This fic will explore the fanon of Tiefling rut/heat cycles: specifically, what happens when a stressed, overworked, sexually pent-up wizard is confronted with his own biology and his feelings about a certain hero all at once?

Thank you @rolansrighthorn for kindly beta reading this chapter!

Rolan x afab!Tav

Birds and Bees - Ch.1

The new Master of Ramazith's Tower hasn't been feeling well. Rolan isn't quite sure what's wrong with himself, but when Tav arrives back in Baldur's Gate, things get much worse.

Tags: Tiefling Ruts, Sexual Tension, Mutual Pining | Word Count: 3.4k [Read on AO3]

Rolan awoke feeling sick as a dog. 

He pulled his legs over the edge of the mattress with a wince. The dull ache in his muscles was something he hadn't felt since those first weeks on the road out of Elturel.

He'd slept like hells the past few days; no doubt that was the cause. Once again, bizarre nightmares had left him gasping awake before dawn, covered in a clammy sheen of perspiration.

The dreams featuring Tav, however…

Rolan’s tail shuddered and flicked over the bedsheets behind him at the memory. He pushed those thoughts forcefully from his head. Tav was due back in Baldur’s Gate today—that was the last thing he should be thinking of when she arrived at Sorcerous Sundries.

She’d been away for over a week this time, gathering her materials in the Underdark. He wondered if that meant she'd have enough work to keep her in the city for longer, too. The thought encouraged him enough to rise and dress for the day. He should make sure her alchemy station was prepped and ready for her at the back of the shop, at least. 

Down on the main floor of Sorcerous Sundries, Rolan’s improved mood was instantly tested. Cal took in his face wide-eyed.

“You look awful.”

“And good morning to you,” Rolan responded irritably.

“Is it?” Cal trailed after him as he unlocked and threw open the wide front doors. “Rolan, maybe you need a day off. You look like you barely slept.”

“I'm fine,” Rolan said, voice firm. “Where’s Lia?”

Right as the words left him, a teacup appeared at his elbow.

“Had a feeling you might need it,” Lia told him. “Looks like I was right.”

Too tired to combat both his siblings at once this early in the day, Rolan accepted the tea with a begrudging sigh of thanks. The smell of bitter herbs hit his nose before he took the first sip.

“Doctoring me with folk remedies now?”

Lia waved a dismissive hand as she moved behind the counter. “Yeah, yeah, we all know you'd rather get fussed over by Tav. Can't have you dragging your tail and embarrassing us in front of her, though.”

Cal walked off with a snort.

Rolan shut his eyes and wished he could return straight back to bed. Instead, he drank his tea down in silence and said a prayer for an easy day of work.

He did find himself perking up after a while. It was difficult to stay sullen on such a glorious spring day; clear sunlight streamed generously through the high windows above, and the flow of customers milling into the shop settled into a pleasant, familiar hum. Rolan fell into the rhythm of assisting them here and there, locating scrolls and giving advice on spellwork.

It certainly wasn’t the prospect of seeing Tav again that was improving his mood so much. That’s what Rolan kept telling himself, at least.

Another breeze drifted in through the open atrium behind him, bringing with it the fresh scent of spring wildflowers. Rolan was taken with a sudden fancy to move closer to wherever it emanated from.

“Lovely morning, isn't it?”

Tav stood beaming at him from the doorway, despite the full-to-bursting pack slung over one of her shoulders. Clearly he wasn’t the only one affected by the irresistibly nice weather.

“It rather is,” Rolan agreed. Ignoring her usual protests, he unshouldered the bag from her with a tug; its weight made him question whether she’d stuffed it entirely with minerals.

“Ugh…thanks.” Tav stretched her arms back appreciatively. She was wearing a lightweight tunic, carelessly laced, and the motion strained the fabric over her chest. 

Rolan averted his gaze, feeling rather warm all of a sudden. He instead led Tav back to her workstation near the stairs.

“Looks busy in here,” she remarked with approval. “Business good?”

“Can’t complain. I take it your travels were as successful?” He punctuated the comment by landing her pack on the desk with a heavy thump. Tav laughed.

“Brilliant, actually. I've got a lot to show you, if you can spare the time.”

“Just give me a few minutes,” he answered, turning back to her.

Tav didn’t reply right away; she was frowning at his face. “Rolan, are you ill? You look flushed—” And she reached a hand as if to feel his forehead.

“Of course not,” Rolan answered, a bit too swiftly. Casting for an excuse to create some distance, he moved to the nearby reference shelves and began shoving the mess of books back into their correct cubbies. “Cal, could you grab another stack of the beginner’s Weave series? We’ve sold through.”

Cal looked up from his work rolling scroll pages. “Er, sure…which wing is that again?”

“Nevermind,” Rolan sighed. “I’ll get them myself. Let me know if your station’s missing any supplies,” he added to Tav, letting his voice soften a bit. It earned him a dimpling smile.

Rolan strode away from her toward the portal, feeling that annoying ache in his legs return as he did.

—

Tav watched Rolan’s figure trudge up the staircase with another twinge of concern. Then she set to work connecting all the equipment on her alchemy station. Lia appeared at her side before long, asking after her week’s travels in the Underdark and catching her up on news and gossip from the Gate. It was so nice to have friends like Lia; ones you could pick up right where you left off with.

Tav had emptied her bag onto her desk and begun sorting the small mountain of herbs into separate piles as she listened. “How’s Rolan been doing with everything, really?”

Lia was turning over one of her shards of laculite, idly catching the sunlight in its facets. “Mostly happy. And stressed, and overextended. And completely neurotic about organizing every shelf in the library. You know, typical wizard stuff.”

“I just hope he’s looking after himself,” she said down to her work. The words left her mouth easier than she wished.

Lia leaned a hip against her desk with arms crossed. “You sound interested in helping with that.”

The quake in Tav’s stomach made her feel very caught out, then very stupid. She let out an exhale of laughter instead.

“Rolan’s made it pretty clear that he is not,” she replied. Her fingers began stripping the blooms from her pile of dried mugwort with more force than strictly necessary.

“Between you and me,” Lia mused, “I don’t think Rolan’s anywhere near clear on that subject. Smart people can be real idiots, you know.”

“Who can?”

Rolan was headed from the staircase with an armful of books; he stood behind Lia with a suspicious look. Tav immediately wondered how much he’d heard.

“Rich people,” Lia answered at once, still leaning casually against Tav’s desk. “Lady Whitburn’s handmaid keeps coming in asking for spell scrolls that I’m pretty sure don’t exist. You think she’d get the picture by now.”

Rolan let out a long-suffering sigh and held out the stack of volumes to her. “Take these. And just send Cal to help her next time, that’s why she keeps coming back.”

Lia threw up a hand as if that only proved her point. “Like I said, idiots.” But with one last glance at Tav, she grabbed the books and ferried them away to the front of Sorcerous Sundries.

For her part, Tav resumed the work of preparing the week’s ingredients—there were several large batches of antidote to get through this morning. Rolan took up his usual spot at the desk in her periphery. 

Ever since the first week he’d offered Sorcerous Sundries to her as a home of operations for her alchemy, Tav found herself spending many hours at work beside Rolan like this. They spent the time talking about her travels, or his latest studies with the Weave, or just discussing the last books they’d read. On busier days, he was called away to help customers for most of her visit.

Today, however, Rolan stood unusually silent next to her.

“Sure you’re feeling all right?” She glanced at his back, again noting the tense line of his shoulders.

“Just a bit tired.” Rolan tipped open his massive record of the shop figures. “Haven’t been sleeping well.”

“I could make you something for that, if you like.”

He gave a low huff of laughter as he took up his quill. “From what I hear from my customers, I’d be out cold for days.”

“Really?” She couldn’t help a grin of professional pride, but focused on adjusting the flame under her distilling glass. “Glad they’re selling well.”

“I can barely keep them on the shelves, especially those remedial draughts you make. The last batch lasted three days.”

Though it was satisfying to hear, Tav felt a bit chagrined. “Damn…won’t have more of those for a while. I still need to track down a new materials trader in the Gate. My usual guy moved on to Neverwinter.”

There was a short pause in their little corner, filled only with the sounds of softly bubbling liquid against glass.

“You know,” Rolan said without turning, “you’re welcome to stay here, if it’s easier for you. The guest room’s always empty. That is, so you wouldn’t have to travel across the city on top of finding your new contact.”

“Oh—” Tav tried hard not to read anything into his offer. “Actually, I already left my things with Danis and Bex. But thank you, Rolan,” she added.

Rolan coughed lightly, back still turned. “Of course.” 

There was another pause, longer and strangely awkward. Tav suddenly found she needed something more to occupy her thoughts than watching a flask boil. Reaching down for her pack, she pulled her research journal up to the desk.

It had been many weeks since Rolan brought up that subject. Why now?

Cal and Lia constantly reminded her of the long-standing offer of a room in the Tower anytime she had need of it. For unspoken reasons, she’d always found polite ways of declining.

It wasn’t that Rolan had made her feel unwelcome in any way. After all, he’d opened up the expansive resources of Ramazith’s Tower to her use, lending her all of the delicate and expensive alchemy equipment that she’d never be able to cart back and forth in her travels. She owed much of her current success to his generosity.

But Rolan had proven himself a generous patron for all kinds of arcane arts as Master of Ramazith’s Tower. Really, what made her think she was any kind of special case?

The fact that she’d very much like to be that to him…well.

That was something Tav tried not to think about. It only led her to dangerous territory, such as staring at his hands while he worked a spell and wondering what else they might be good for. Hardly conducive to a friendly, professional relationship. 

And if she was any good at reading signals, friendly but professional was how Rolan wanted to keep things.

Tav shuffled through her notes a bit too briskly and almost scattered them. That was enough dwelling on that subject; clearly, Rolan had plenty to think about without worrying about unwanted advances in his own home. The least she could do to repay his generosity would be to continue respecting his boundaries.

“Noblestalk propagation?”

She glanced over her shoulder. To her surprise, Rolan had moved closer to peer down at the top page in her hands with curiosity.

“Most valuable thing in the Underdark,” she told him. “Even more than mithril. Actually, this is what I wanted to show you—”

Noblestalk fetched a high price for its alchemical power, certainly, but also for its rarity. The delicate mushrooms were notoriously picky about where they grew; it was part of what made them so hard to find. 

Truth be told, she’d been running a little experiment on them down in the Underdark over the past few months. She ran a finger across the charted results as she explained them to Rolan, whose tension seemed to vanish as he listened on with keen interest.

“Obviously the spores took faster in high humidity. But look, they actually did better when I transplanted them in a really cold spot near the river here—which is so odd, most fungi need a bit of warmth—

“Have you tried recreating these artificially? Carrying a sample back to the surface?”

“Not yet.” She scratched her chin in thought. “I’d need to find somewhere underground to propagate it. And I’d rather not spend any more time in the sewers, after that little cult business.”

“Just do it here,” Rolan dismissed, as if it was the plainly obvious solution. “We’ve got quite a few empty vaults now. Shouldn’t be too hard to repurpose one as a greenhouse of sorts.”

As she turned her head to respond, she was caught up short. 

Rolan was still peering intently at her writing. But in his concentration, he’d angled his body very close beside her. His chest nearly brushed her shoulder. She could’ve counted the freckles dusting his nose.

When he reached forward to flip over the page, she felt his other hand actually rest on the far side of her waist—the absent way you might touch someone very familiar to you when moving past them. Heat rose in her cheeks at the gesture.

Perhaps Rolan felt her tense. He blinked, and she watched realization dart over his features. He stepped back at once.

“Apologies.” Then he cleared his throat to add—“Your work is quite engaging.”

Coming from him, the words sounded much nicer than they had a right to. She felt her flush deepening, and quickly turned back to reorder her notes. 

“Thanks,” she laughed, praying it didn’t sound as awkward as it felt rising in her throat.

Behind her back, she heard Rolan return to his desk on her left. Presumably continuing his work on the Sundries inventory; more likely trying to ignore her obvious fluster. 

She clenched her jaw in an attempt to shove that same stupid, fluttery feeling out of her stomach, and returned to the practical work at hand. 

—

Rolan stared down at last week’s sales in his ledger. The figures were a blur of meaningless scribbles in front of his eyes.

Was he feverish? Seriously ill? There had to be a sound explanation for the way he’d just…laid hands on her like that, unthinking. 

He clenched the guilty right hand responsible, feeling its sharp nails press crescent moons into his palm. Idiot. He took a deep breath to regain his composure. 

It only caused that lovely wildflower scent from before to fill his lungs more completely, pulling at his other senses. Perhaps it was emanating from one of the many strange ingredients Tav was always carrying back from the Underdark. Was that what had muddled his mind this way?

He found himself glancing back over his shoulder to where she was bent over her alchemy scales. The pink tip of her tongue was visible between her teeth, a gesture she often made when concentrating.

As Rolan watched, a lock of her hair slipped forward over her shoulder. She swept it absently back behind her ear. The innocuous motion caused another wave of something floral to brush past his face, stronger this time.

“Are you wearing scent?”

Tav glanced up from the powder she was weighing out, brows raised in question. “What?”

“Nothing,” Rolan said swiftly, shaking himself back to rights a bit. He felt very lucky she seemed to have misheard. He turned back to his work before he could say anything else strange or embarrassing.

With effort, Rolan forced his attention back to the comforting logic of sums and figures. 

The time passed with blessed uneventfulness after that. The soft sounds of glassware and bubbling liquids from Tav’s alchemy faded to an idle lull at the back of Rolan’s consciousness. Nevertheless, he pushed through the past month’s numbers with more difficulty than usual, scratching through multiple errors as his quill moved over the page. He occasionally had to pause to rub at an uncomfortable crick building in his neck.

A laugh came from behind him. “Do you mind?”

Rolan raised his head to look. Tav was gesturing at the corner of her alchemy station with a bemused expression. 

To his own confusion, he found that his tail had traveled there of its own accord sometime in the past minutes. It lay coiled on the wood, its tip flicking back and forth in her direction, as if seeking her attention.

With another chuckle, Tav’s fingers closed around it and lightly dropped the appendage off the edge of her desk.

An involuntary sound caught in Rolan’s throat. The moment her hand connected with his skin, a shock of blood rushed to his groin. He nearly tipped forward in alarm at the feeling.

The rapid redirection left his legs wobbling and bloodless. His knees almost buckled under him; he gripped sharp claws into the edge of his wooden desk to steady himself. 

As the ringing in his ears cleared, he heard Tav reading under her breath behind him while she ground something against her mortar. Praise the gods that whatever just happened to his body had escaped her notice.

“Need a book from the library—”

Without a backward glance, Rolan stumbled toward the stairs.

Spurred on by the knowledge that any customers who might notice his urgent departure would certainly see the reason for it, he strode on double-time for the portal. Only once the swirl of Weave closed behind him, depositing him in the quiet of the Tower, did he release the breath caught up in his lungs.

Seeking to ground himself, Rolan glanced up to watch the golden dust motes drift through a beam of sunlight. It was the strangest sensation to be standing completely still and feel a sweat break out over his brow.

How did he not realize days ago? Muscle aches—difficulty sleeping—heightened senses. All clear indicators that his biology had finally caught up with him, albeit a solid year later than it should have.

Rolan gripped a hand to the back of his head with a groan of realization. Not perfume—it had been Tav herself he kept catching scent of this morning. That sweet smell that practically made his mouth water to recall now was nothing but raw instinct laid bare.

Well, he had no right to complain about the timing. Apparently many frantic months of escaping the Hells, surviving on the road, and battling back an invasion from the Astral Plane had done a lot to delay the inevitable. 

But inevitable it was, and as of today, very much inescapable. There was never really a convenient time for this sort of thing, was there?

It could be worse—as the new keeper of Ramazith’s Tower, at least he found himself with private quarters to retreat to for the entirety of it. If he was lucky, it would all be over in a week, and then he could go on ignoring this unfortunate side effect of his Infernal heritage for a few more uneventful years. 

Lia and Cal could manage the shop for a week without any major calamities, surely?

As Rolan paced the silk carpets of the Tower floor, he forced his feverish mind to finish scrabbling together the plan. His gaze fell on the desk by the window. In the next second, he was putting shaking quill to parchment. Something simple, just enough they’d understand—

Bad week for visitors. Please mind the Sundries while I recover. Tell Tav 

The tip of his quill skipped as he paused, letting a droplet of ink bleed into the page. 

Tell Tav what, exactly? That he was in his room rutting his brains out like an animal in heat? Likely thinking of her while he did?

That line of thought brought a series of unhelpful and very stimulating images to mind. He swallowed down a humiliating sound as the stiffness between his legs grew painfully hard in reaction. Merciful, bloody hells.

Tell Tav nothing, he finished in a scrawl. Rolan folded the note and deposited it on the floor just in front of the portal, where it would be impossible for his siblings to miss. 

Then he turned for the staircase to his bedroom, already mad to rip these chafing gods-damned robes off his skin.

[honeybeedrabble]

can i get a shikamaru x reader, where they are on a mission together to the sand village and perhaps only one bed 😈😈 (also include gaara if u can i love sand emos) - also only one tent and pillow wall

MDNI 18+

OMG. THIS !!!! mission sex? probably the hottest sex. at least for shinobi. something about shikamaru improperly using shadow paralysis while the Kazekage feels you up in his office 😳😳

CW: AFAB reader x shikamaru x gaara, somnophilia, mission sex, only one tent, only one sleeping bag, handjob, cum eating (?), eiffel tower, MFM threesome, improper use of shadow possession, pet names, unprotected piv (don’t be stupid), cream pie (don’t be stupid), oral (m receiving) lmk what else lol

September 22. It was September 22, Shikamaru’s 19th birthday and yet he was summoned by the Hokage for a mission. Sure, he could’ve just declined, everyone told him to anyways, but Shikamaru knew some things had to be done. And yeah, he complained the whole time that it was ‘a drag to work on his birthday’ but with his wallet running slimmer by the day, a low risk mission to the hidden sand didn’t seem like the worst idea for a couple ryō. He figured he’d throw a bigger belated birthday party after he got paid so to him it was whatever.

When he was summoned to the Hokages quarters and saw that he wouldn’t be alone, but instead paired up with you? Oh baby… it was a win-win for Shikamaru all around. The mission itself was easy, travel to the hidden sand, deliver a few scrolls and plant a few medicinal herbs native to konoha. Since the war has been passed for a few years, the allied nations don’t seem to have any animosity towards each other and the path ahead should be clear.

It didn’t take long for you two to head out, traveling west to the village. You hadn’t exactly come prepared, telling Shikamaru that you had already been assigned for this mission before he had so you had only packed one tent and one sleeping bag. Luckily you had enough hindsight to see you might have some food or water shortages, especially in the desert heat, and rations weren’t an issue.

When traveling, Shikamaru told you to lead the way so he could keep a better eye on you. But to be honest, he was just staring at your ass the whole time, watching your hips sway side to side after each step you took. It caught him off gaurd when you turned you head to speak to him.

“Hey, isn’t it your birthday?” you asked, ignoring the feeling you thought you caught him staring at your ass (you did).

“Yeah, why’d you ask?”

“I dunno, I guess never took you for the type to not celebrate your birthday.” You replied with a shrug. Shikamaru raised a brow.

“ What d’you mean?”

“Well I mean… going on a three day mission to the hidden sand and back doesn’t quite strike me as a celebration,” you said with a laugh. Shikamaru chuckled.

“I guess you’re right. It is a real drag having to do this but I need the money anyways. Besides, if I didn’t come you’d be out here all by yourself, who’d protect you then?” He smirked. You blushed, shrugging off your flustered reaction with an eye roll.

“Pft, maybe someone who brought their own sleeping bag,” you teased.

“Touché. But you have to admit, the company’s nice.”

“It is... Happy birthday, Shikamaru.”

“Thanks.”

______________________________________________

You two had somehow traveled a little ways past the halfway point, and you could tell by how late it was partnered with how tired you felt. After a long dinner of canned soup, protein bars, jerky and dried fruit you had pulled out the tent. Snapping each piece together with a small click each time. You threw the cover on and tucked in the corners, zipping the tents zippers in place before unzipping and crawling in. Once you were in you rolled out your sleeping bag.

“Do you want to share?” You asked, unzipping the zipper and opening up the bag. Shikamaru was slightly taken aback and shook his head.

“No it’s fine, s’my fault I didn’t pack a bag, I don’t want to inconvenience you.” He said, laying down on the grass. You cocked an eyebrow at him.

“It’s big enough for the both of us, trust me I’ve had to do this on a few missions before. Nothing I’m not used to.” You reassured, laying down inside. You motioned with your hands for him to come inside and he let out a small huff.

“Fine, but only cause you wore me down.” He said, trying to hide his excitement.

He crawled into the tent, immediately he could tell how much warmer it was with you. Shikamaru got in next to you and zipped the bag up behind him. He nestled closer to you and you flipped on your side facing away from him, and he settled in against your back in the snug sleeping bag.

“I’m sorry about your birthday,” you said, still facing away. His head sunk lower near yours.

“Don’t worry. It’s going a lot better than I thought it was,” he said low and sleepy.

You had fallen asleep pretty fast, he could tell because of the soft, steady breaths you took besides him. While you were happily sleeping, you didn’t anticipate occasionally grinding into him. The push of your ass was enough to keep Shikamaru awake, and he couldn’t help himself from sleepily grinding into you. When you stirred for a moment Shikamaru stilled immediately, his heart pounding out of his chest. When he heard your sleepy sighs and breaths he went back to his prior movements.

He continued to press himself against you, moving when you did. The curve of your ass hugging the outline of his dick euphorically. However, the pleasure was subsided by his need for sleep and his hips stopped meeting yours in an attempt to save energy. He realized most of the grinding was on his part and not yours, when he stopped you had. Slowly he drifted off, fighting the urge to not jerk himself off under your shared sleeping bag while you dreamt.

_______________________________________________

The second day you two had decided to take things easier and walk half of the time rather than run. While you were leading, Shikamarus gaze felt hungrier. Everytime you looked back, his eyes lingered on your ass far too long to be a coincidence. You had a feeling yesterday, but today had confirmed your suspicions.

“So, what are you planning on doing when you get home?” You asked him, turning your head to look at him. His eyes lingered on your ass for a few seconds shamelessly before snapping up and meeting yours.

“I’m going straight home, I’ve got something in mind,” he said, his lips curling into a small smirk. You were confused.

“What do you mean? Are you gonna have the party at your house?” You asked. Shikamaru let out a small laugh, his hand reaching down to adjust his crotch, his semi hard on making itself present.

“Sure, I guess I can call it a party. But it’s gonna be a party of just myself, unless you wanted to join me?” His eyes had gotten darker and filled with lust as they returned to your ass. You felt your face heat and you felt naked under Shikamarus gaze.

“Um… sure. We can have a small party before everyone gets there. You said you wanted it at your house?” You asked, trying desperately to get his attention. He looked up at your again, his hand adjusting his pants again.

“More specifically my bedroom,” he whispered coming up behind you. He brushed the back of his hand against your ass before passing you and taking the lead himself with you to follow.

____________________________________________________________

That night when sleeping with Shikamaru in the tent under your sleeping bag, Shikamaru was a mess. He spent 24 hours sexually frustrated, all while he was alone with you. He was a wreck and couldn't help himself to the cruve of your ass for a second night. He was sure you were alseep, but he didn't care if you werent.

He wrapped his arms around you, mercilessly grinding himself into your hips while you stirred underneath him. You couldn't fall back asleep with his movements and you were so turned on it was almost painful. You could feel yourself drenched with arousal as he abused your ass cheeks with his hard cock. You didn't know if you should pretend to be asleep or rock your hips into him and risk him stopping.

Shikamaru was animalistic, growling and whimpering into your ear as his arms flexed around your core, and you couldn't pretend for any longer. You smashed yourself into his groin, grinding pleasantly against his dick. An arm came out from its grip on your waist and gripped your wrist tightly. He unbuckled his pants with the other and brought your hand down to his boxers, where he palmed himself with your hand.

You couldn't help but gasp lightly, feeling how large he swelled under your touch. He hissed as your fingers traced the outline, then shoved his boxers aside for his dick to spring out. He guided your hand to his dick, where you reached out for his tip. He let out a shaky exhale as you smeared his precum around his angry tip, dragging the liquid arousal down his shaft and back up. He groaned in your ear, fucking your fist from behind as you lay at your side.

"Shit- you've got some soft hands." He let out between breaths, slowing his pace to feel every crease of your palm wrapped around his cock.

He picked up his pace, suddenly feeling too crazed with lust to savor your touch. He reached under you, pulling your other arm behind you to add to his pleasure. You whined, rubbing your thighs together sleepily for any friction you could get, the stitch of your pants working just enough to have you craving more. You closed your eyes, imagining how his cock looked soaking wet with his own precum as you jerked him off, his heavy, euphoric breaths mixing with the squelch of your grip on his shaft.

You pumped upwards, your thumb circling his drooly tip and he whined bucking himself into your finger.

"Ah- fuckkk. Do that again. Get as much as you can and slather it over my cock." he instructed, his voice straining. You did, dragging his precum and coating his shaft with the liquid. His breath hitched for a second, grapsing your hands from behind you and cupping them together in front of his tip.

"Fuck-Fuck-Fuck," He moaned heavily, grasping his dick and angrilly pumping it with his own hands. "Ngh- fuck. ahhh..." He spilled his thick ropes into your hands, the ribbons full and heavy. As soon as he finished cumming he dragged his dick into the cupped seed, fucking your hands one last time before putting himself away.

"Eat up," he smirked, whispering in your ear lazily. He fell asleep soon after and you wiped your hands off on your pants with your inner thigh. You licked a finger, tasting his cum and felt hornier than ever. You had to go to sleep that night without touching yourself, not wanting to get his leftover cum inside of you.

__________________________________________________________

The next morning morning neither of you spoke about the previous night. Shikamaru was internally cursing himself for being so unprofessional and letting his perversions get to him. You however, were craving more. You didn’t get to see him that night, how his eyebrows knotted and his eyes pinched shut as his mouth fell open letting out pleasurable moans while cumming several roles into your palms. You thought about it a lot and by the time you two reached the hidden sand you were soaking.

These scrolls were important and by no means was anyone allowed to open or read the contents inside. In order to prevent any curious eyes, you and Shikamaru were ordered to deliver them to the Kazekage himself. When you entered the building the Kazekag was sat at his desk, the room empty as he awaited your arrival.

“Ah, the hidden leaf shinobi. I take it that the journey was easy?” He asked.

“Yeah, the way over wasn’t too bad, Lord Gaara.” Shikamaru said, stepping in with you to follow, closing the door behind you.

“Thats a relief, I’m aware that your birthday was two days ago so I apologize for the abrupt mission. And please Shikamaru, no reason to be so formal with such an old friend.” Gaara said with a small smile. Shikamaru nodded. “And hello to you too,” Gaara said, switching the conversation towards you. You smile.

“Hello, Lord Gaara! It’s nice seeing you again. I wish it was under different circumstances though, with the journey back we’ll have to get on our way soon.” You sigh sadly.

“Now now, no need to rush. I haven’t seen you in a while, why don’t you sit down? I missed you.” Gaaras voice was lower, his eyes gently looking into yours. You felt hot suddenly, and definitely didn’t want to act weird around the Kazekage. You needed some air.

“Um, sure. Sorry, I’ll be back I just need some air.” You said, fanning yourself. You spun around and headed for the door when suddenly your body froze in place. You grunted trying to move your legs when you watched thick, black stripes make their way up your legs. Your eyes widened, turning you head behind you.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Shikamaru asked demandingly, his eyes narrowed looking at yours. Shadow paralysis. He walked up to you and turned you around, still stuck in his jutsu.

“What are you doing, Captain?” you whined, looking back at the men in front of you. Shikamaru wandered behind you, pressing a soft kiss to the back of your neck.

“Fuck- I’ve been thinking about this all mission. That handy you gave me last night isn’t nearly enough, I need you.” he breathed heavy into your skin. You felt your body shake, a vibration sent down your spine as Shikamaru nibbled gently on your delicate skin. You watched through half lidded eyes as Gaara approached you, his hands sliding between your shirt and vest and he slid the vest off- it hit the floor with a light thud.

“I haven’t seen you in months,” He whispered, grabbing your waist and rubbing small circles with his thumbs. “I almost forgot how you felt,” He added. Gaara grabbed the end of your shirt, pulling it over your head slowly and watching as your skin started to reveal itself under the lifted fabric. As he tossed the garment to the floor, Shikamaru was quick to undo your bra clasps, pushing the straps off your shoulders as the underwear landed on your shirt and vest on the ground.

“So beautiful,” Gaaras eyes were blown and dark, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you into him. His head dipped down to your tits, popping a hardened nipple into his mouth and rolling it between his tongue. You couldn’t help but let out a soft breath, still unable to move the paralysis placed on you. You tried struggling with the jutsu, yet ultimately unable to undo yourself from Shikamarus power.

He grabbed your head and pulled it to the side, then pulled himself into your lips, crashing into you with a messy kiss. You moaned into his mouth, your cunt already wet with arousal as Gaara fondled your other fit in his hand. Shikamaru was able to silence your moans with his tongue as it lazily lapped at yours slowly and softly. He opened his mouth and a trail of spit connected you two together.

“Goddamn, you make me crazy. I ought to bend you over that desk and take you for myself.” Shikamaru said, grabbing a fistful of your ass. You whined, the feeling of his shadow around you tightening.

“Don’t be selfish. You can have her all you want back at the leaf, I don’t have that luxury,” Gaara said, popping your tit out of his mouth with a pop. “Ngh- I want to touch you… be inside you… taste you… I have to have you, beautiful. Right on my desk.” Gaara picked you up, Shikamarus shadow possession allowing you to wrap your legs around him.

He brought you to his desk, Shikamaru standing in front of it with you and Gaara behind. You felt the jutsu gently leave, allowing you to move better. You bent of the desk, Gaaras chest pressed against your back as his hands trailed down your stomach down to your core. He unbuttoned you pants from the back, grabbing the zipper and slowly pulling it down. He then lifted off of you and pulled your pants and panties off together. He whimpered softly as he watched your slick covered underwear fall down your thighs. You stepped out of your pants, naked and splayed out on the desk, shaking gently in arousal.

“I knew it, you were wet,” Gaara groaned, palming his erection through his pants. Shikamaru smirked, undoing his pants and sliding them half way down his thighs. You reached for his boxers, grabbing his waistband and freeing his hard cock. You whined in excitement, pleased by the sight of his hard dick already wet with precum.

Gaara thrusted his clothed dick into your wet cunt, you breathed deeply, tossing your head back to look back at him. He backed off just to undo his own pants, freeing his own sizable dick. You watched as he rubbed the head of his cock against your wet entrance and you both moan in need. He pushed slightly in, you moaned heavily as you felt him part you in half, his thick cock already nudging a spongy spot inside of you. He pushed the rest of his length in and bottomed out inside of you with a raspy groan.

Shikamaru was getting impatient, gliding his hand up and down his girthy length. He positioned his head at your opened mouth and you accepted his angry red tip with gratitude. He hisses in delight, his fingers digging into your hair as your slid him down your throat until he hit the back. You gagged around his length, then slowly released him, grabbing his dick and licking his tip to taste his salty precum, remembering what little you tasted last night.

“You look so beautiful with dick in your mouth. Ngh- feel so warm… so wet… Ahh, I can’t help myself.” Gaara huffed out, slowly sliding out of you before roughly thrusting himself into you again. You moaned around Shikamarus cock, slick running down your thighs as the momentum pushed you further down Shikamarus shaft. Shikamaru winced, his grip on your hair loosening.

“Sucking dick like a natural, I don’t even think I need to put in any work,” He smirked, resting his hand on the back of your head as Gaara stuffed you full of his rock-hard cock. He stuffed you roughly with a tight grip on your hips, you chocking on Shikamarus cock as he gasped in delight.

“Good girl,” Shikamaru praised, running a hand through your hair. You eyes watered as you looked up at him through your lashes, grabbing onto his thighs.

“So tight.. Oh fuuck you’re running down my thighs. Ahhh, beautiful girl, I’m going to miss this pussy,”Gaara grunted, pistoning you full with each snap of his hips. You drooled down Shikamarus cock, your jaw sore from his jolting thrusts inside you mouth. You tan your tongue up and down, tracing a vein that ran along his shaft as his precum continued to fill your mouth.

“Good girl, sucking me like a perfect cock whore. Shit… I’m almost there baby.” Shikamaru stifled, his hips gently thrusting into the back of your throat. You whined around his length, wishing that the pleasure would never end, regardless of your own high quickly approaching.

“Go ahead, love. Cum on this dick. I want to see you choke on his dick as you choke my cock,” Gaara lewdly growled, thirsting into you faster. Shikamaru groaned deeply as you moaned, the vibrations of your throat stimulating him in a new way as he came several ropes into your mouth. You tried swallowing each mouthful as you clenched around Gaaras cock, pulsing around him as warm, salty cum was poured down your throat.

“Fuuuck! Ahh- oh god… Your mouth is so good, you did so good.” Shikamaru praises, bending down to your level and holding your face in his hands as Gaara continues to sloppily fuck you. Shikamaru kissed you, sliding his tongue back into your mouth and tasting himself on your lips. You moan in his mouth still cumming around Gaara as his grip on your hips tighten.

“Ohhh… Yes! Almost, almost- I’m almost there. You’re s-so good,” Gaara breathed. “Cum with me,” Gaara said, hitting your spots just right. Your core aches as you came undone on his Kazekage desk, Shikamaru kissing you all over as Gaara pummeled you and then stilled, cumming deep inside of your pulsating cunt.

“Fuck! T-Thank you, Lord Gaara!” You cried into Shikamarus mouth, your legs shaking as the man behind you overstimulated you into a moaning puddle. Shikamaru planted one last kiss on your lips before he stood up and tucked himself away into his pants. Gaara lay ontop of you, occasionally pushing himself into you as he slowly softened until he pulled out, his cum spilling onto your naked thighs. He kissed the nape of you neck deeply, then stood up and pulled back up his boxers and pants.

You lie there fucked out and stupid, Shikamaru and Gaara exchanged scrolls while Shikamaru went digging through your bag for medicinal herbs that you brought with you.

“Excuse me, Shikamaru?” Gaara asked, completely ignoring the fact you were still naked and shuddering on his desk. Shikamaru raised an eyebrow.

“Yes?” He asked.

“I just wanted to wish you a happy birthday one last time,” Gaara smiled. Shikamaru stifled a laugh.

“Thanks, I think this might’ve been my best birthday so far.” He smirks, his gaze landing on you. You whimpered in embarrassment, still naked as the men in front of you softly embraced you in their stares.

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

I'll Crawl Home To Her

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!reader

Summary: Simon is away on a mission and you are on his mind. Having to extend his stay, he is going to miss Valentine's day, but coming across a recent trend on TikTok, he may have a way to say just how much you mean to him.

***So, this came from the TikTok trend I came across of military guys posting pics of their girlfriends/wives/fiancees/etc. to the song Work Song by Hozier and I wanted Simon to do it too for you. So here it is! Just a little something extra***

***Pictures are made by me***

Simon can’t sleep, again. 

It’s been a while that his team has been in the field on their current mission and though he knows he should focus on the task at hand, there is so much on his mind tonight. Even though he is tired, he cannot seem to get himself to drift off. There is something missing, or more like someone, that he wishes to be beside right now and that is you.

He feels guilty about still being gone as he should be in by now, just in time for Valentine's day, but that isn’t happening anymore. Things on this latest mission are taking longer than expected and instead of packing up to come home to you, he had to have that hard phone call to tell you that he wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. In that call he heard it there in your voice: that twinge of sadness that you always try to mask through hopeful and kind words, holding back the crackle in your voice as you choke back the tears in hopes that he won't hear it, but he does. He always does.

As much as he loves his job he is ready to be back with you again and hearing that does not make it any easier. 

The dark surrounds him as Simon lays in his cot, trying to numb his mind with his phone propped up in his hand, hopeful that with enough distraction sleep will eventually take him. He knows there is no better way to keep his mind from wandering back to those things he cannot change than by idly watching short content videos and he knows just where to go for that. He clicks on the TikTok app and begins to watch. 

Scrolling through the drivel and waste, past people spewing their nonsense, a video comes across his feed that instantly brings you right back to the forefront of his thoughts. The first slide is a picture of a young man in his fatigues and tactical gear smiling at the camera. He is clearly in the field on active duty and there is text across him that repeats the lyrics of the song playing. His picture is followed by a slide with what Simon assumes is his wife with the next bit of lyrics over her. It looks like a new trend amongst military personnel on the app, a tribute to the ones they are going to come home to in the future: children, pets, significant others, family. 

The song tugs at his heartstrings from the moment it begins; it's one he hasn't heard before, but the lyrics make his heart ache and his arms feel so incredibly empty without the weight of your body filling them as the singer speaks about how even in death they would find their way home to the one they love.

And fuck if that isn't something he thinks about a lot. 

It is a burden of this type of job, leaving all part of his heart behind back home every time he has to go out. He knows this lifestyle isn’t easy on either of you, that even though you’ve been together for a couple years now, having him constantly be pulled across the world and away from you still has a certain bite to it. Yet with all that stacked against your relationship, not once have you ever been anything other than supportive. Standing beside him through it all, constantly choosing to give him your heart no matter how hard this gets, loving him through the all the shit that gets thrown his way; if there is anyone his soul would seek out even in death, it would be you. 

He clicks on the sound at the bottom of the screen with a lump welling in his throat and starts to watch more videos of the same. One video turns into two and then three and now his heart is aching something fierce, like a physical burning in the center of his hardened chest that he tries to rub away with his hand, but he knows it's not going to go until he's near you again.

This longing is worse than it has ever been before. He misses your touch, all that soft, warm skin under his hardened hands; he misses your laugh, that sweet sound that can make the sunshine come out even on a rainy day; he yearns for your mouth, those full lips that he can lose himself in. It's almost too much to bear being away from you at that moment.

Simon was never one for big displays of sentimentality. No one ever seemed worth breaking down those walls that he had built up to allow himself to be vulnerable in such a public way like that. It never seemed worth the sacrifice. And for a long time, no matter who he met, that was true…until you.

You broke the mold when you came into his life. Now his heart can't help but burst at the seams whenever you pop into his head. He could be a thousand miles away from you, stuck in some hot, miserable shithole in the middle of nowhere, like he is right now, and yet the moment he thinks of you it doesn't seem quite so bad. 

Because he knows there is a piece of heaven waiting for him, something wonderful that is all his that the struggle of his other life will not touch, not if he has anything to do with it.

Simon may have to miss being there on the day when people show their loved ones how much they care, but that doesn’t mean he can do nothing. As the videos continue to play, he gets an idea, one that will hopefully show you just how much he really does care. 

As much as you go on the app, he is sure you have seen a video or two like this come across your scrolling. You have probably sat there and watched just as he did, thinking about him being so far away, missing him something terrible. Maybe you would like to see him make a video like that for you. Either way, this is something he wants to do, needs to do.

Simon has no pictures of just himself on his phone, none without you in them, and so that’s his first order if he wants to do this right. He tries to do the easy thing the next day and take a selfie, but he can’t get one that looks good enough for him to keep. The more he takes, the worse he thinks they look and that means he is going to have to get help whether he wants to or not, otherwise he is going to back out of doing this and he’s not going to let that happen. 

This is for you after all, he needs it to be perfect. You deserve that.

He decides his best bet is wrangling Soap into doing this for him; at least he is the most comfortable asking the sergeant. “Johnny, I need ya to do somethin’ for me,” Simon says as the team stands around awaiting transport into the designated location. “Don’t ask any fuckin’ questions, but I need ya to take a picture a me real quick.”

“Wanna do a beauty shoot here, L.T.? Seems a bit of a strange location,” Johnny jokes as Simon pulls out his phone from his pocket and shoves it into the sergeant’s open hand. Johnny watches him for a moment, taking a guess at what this is all really about. “Or is it for yer lass back home? Gonna send her somethin’ nice?”

Shaking his head, Simon laughs sarcastically. “Just take the damn picture, yeah? An’ make it look good. I want it ta look natural.”

This isn’t something the masked officer has much experience in and so posing is out; he instead goes for something where it looks like he is caught unaware that he’s being photographed. He’s looking off in the distance, his hand wrapped around his gun so they don’t just hang awkwardly at his side. Johnny quickly snaps the pic and hands the phone back to Simon to check. 

“That’ll do,” he says under his breath, satisfied enough with how it looks.

That night as he lays down for bed, he quickly pieces the video together: first his photo and then he needs one of you. He opens his camera roll and it is absurd how many different ones he has saved. There are so many to choose from that he has a hard time picking the perfect one, but settles on something recent. 

It’s one of you in the bathroom of your apartment, all cozy in the striped jumper he got you for your birthday. Your hair is pulled down out of the bun you keep it in for work, a bit messy from just getting in after you got off. Never has he seen someone more beautiful in such a simple state; you always could look like a dream without even trying. And even through your exhaustion you still give the camera and him the biggest, brightest smile. 

Yeah, it has to be this one. This is the beauty he does all this for.

Luckily it is a rather simple video to put together, he doesn’t have too much trouble getting it to look exactly like the others. He has to watch and rewatch it several times just to be sure he is happy with the product before he hits upload to his followers only. Being that you are the only person that follows him, that is exactly what he wants; he may have to be a bit secretive for work, but that doesn’t mean he can’t try and give you some normalcy.

To him you deserve the world and fuck if he isn’t going to try and give it to you.

He presses the button, the uploading dial in the upper hand corner spinning until it reaches 100%, and waits to see if you get it, hoping that it has the effect he wants in saying all he needs to for you to know how special you are to him.

Across the country, your phone buzzes with a random notification as you lay in bed. It's from Simon's account on TikTok saying he's made a new post. You can’t help how strange you think it is… He never posts anything on his account because he really only made one for you to send him stupid videos to watch whenever he needs to unwind and so it takes you by surprise to see that he has posted something. Opening the app curiously you go straight to check out what it is.

You are not prepared for the emotion that hits you the moment the video starts to play. It’s one of those military posts you have come across a couple of times while scrolling late at night, the ones that you have to quickly scroll past or risk crying at how sweet they are and how much they make you miss Simon. Now the heartfelt Hozier song is blasting through the speakers and it is for you.  

The sentiment behind the lyrics of the song mixed with the picture of him on his latest mission is almost too much. And of course he has picked the picture of you looking all natural, it’s like he can’t get enough of you when you don’t even try at all. You know better than anyone how Simon despises having his picture taken if it isn’t with you, so this a huge sign of just how deeply he cares. Instantly there is a stinging around the rims of your eyes as your vision shimmers. You let the video replay several times as the stray tears are let loose and stream heavily down your face.

Simon did this all for you.

Quickly you pull up your texting app and send him a message, hoping he’s still up to at least answer. You have to rub your eyes with the back of your hand to see the screen, but you type out your message as best you can.

I want you to know I'm crying right now because of you. Is that what you wanted? Make me something that has me crying?

A few minutes pass before your phone buzzes with a text from him, just as you finish wiping away more of the tears collecting on your cheeks. 

Guess you saw the video, yeah? I hope I did it right, sweetheart. Cause I fucking mean it.

You chuckle, swallowing down the lump of feelings that have lodged themselves in your throat, struggling not to start sobbing at how his sweet affection. Of all the things that could be said about Simon Riley, one that could never was that he didn't try his hardest when it came to loving you.

The emotion makes your hands quiver, but you text him back.

It is perfect, Simon. I love it. Really, you did so good.

Simon smiles to himself, glad that your deep connection allows him to share things like this with you. There is no one else that can see him like this, that he can allow his guard down around, and it feels nice to be this tender for the first time in his life. He truly feels as if he can be vulnerable, let himself love with his whole heart, and it is all because of you.

Maybe I'm going soft, but I wanted you to know that I am missing you like mad and that I hate I’m not there with you right now. Fuck, it's getting hard. Can't wait till you're back in my arms again, darling.

You close your eyes and press your lips to the screen as if he can feel your kiss through the screen.

Love you.

Not even a minute passes and the phone vibrates.

Love you too, my beautiful girl. I promise I'll be home soon.

[yoongiseesawmp3]

anything but - jeonghan

summary: roommate!jeonghan. you thought living with your best friend, jeonghan, would be easy. fun. like a sleepover every night. but as he watches you struggle week in and week out with crushes that don't like you back or dates that never seem to go well, he decides to take matters into his own hands.

word count: 8.2k

warnings: none rly, afab reader, unedited, sry

masterlist

jeonghan is ready to go to sleep. he had a long day, followed by a good, but tiring, night with friends, and he's been thinking about his soft sheets for the past two hours now. he's also been thinking about you, thinking about how happy he gets seeing your face light up when he walks through the door, but he knows he won't see that tonight. you're going on a date, dinner with some loser who's not him. he knows he could treat you so much better, but he can't just say that. things would get weird, and jeonghan can't afford the rent on his own. so selfishly, he keeps you and his feelings at arm's length. he's still thinking about you as he puts his key in the lock, wondering if he can stay up late enough to make sure you get home safe. when he opens the door, he changes his mind.

"what are you doing here?" jeonghan asks with a bit of anger in his voice, finding you laid out on the couch scrolling through your phone. "you told me you were going on a date tonight. did you cancel on him?"

"nope," you reply, popping the p as you sit up to stare at your roommate. "he cancelled on me. ten minutes before he was supposed to pick me up, actually, so i got ready for nothing."

that's when jeonghan notices the nice clothes you have on, your hair done up but mussed now that you've been laying on it. and, with a pang in his chest, he notices your makeup that looks smudged with tears. he knows you've been having dating trouble lately, and it's definitely been getting to you. but it makes his heart ache to think that you've been home all night crying over some loser who couldn't even bother to take you out.

"why didn't you call me?" he asks softly, joining you on the couch as he lifts your legs to lay them over his lap. he keeps a comforting hand on your calf as you explain, a slight tremor in your bottom lip as you say, "i didn't want to interrupt boy's night."

"baby, come on," he sighs. "you should have told me. you could've come to boy's night!"

"right," you scoff, rolling your eyes. "and hear all of them talk about their beautiful girlfriends and being so happy in a relationship? i'd rather eat drywall."

"we talk about other stuff," jeonghan laughs. "i told them about you getting us tickets to that soccer game and now i think they like you better than me. mingyu might be calling to see if he can take my ticket."

"never," you smile at him, sitting up and swinging your legs from his lap. "well, it's late. you're probably tired."

"eh," jeonghan shrugs, looking over you carefully to gauge if you're upset. "i could stay up a little longer, if you wanted to watch something."

"we're caught up on all our shows though," you pout. jeonghan sees an idea cross your face, so he asks, "what are you thinking?"

"nothing," you shake your head. "i remembered i didn't watch project runway last week, but you don't like that show-"

"put it on," he nods to the tv, looking over you one more time and noticing your clothes must not be that comfortable. "or you go change, i'll set it up."

"you don't know what episode i'm on though," you squint at him, and he shakes his head.

"nope, you're two weeks behind," he says. "i remember, because we went out the week before and you were ticked off that you were missing it."

"you pay too much attention to me," you mumble as you finally get up from the couch, jeonghan barely hearing you as he checks you out from behind. you're right, he does. too bad you haven't realized why.

when you come back from your room, you're wearing a hoodie that's seen better days and shorts that aren't quite doing their job. jeonghan clears his throat, trying not to stare, but when you sit down and put your legs back over his lap he can't help but skirt his hand over your skin, getting too close to your thigh without realizing.

"that tickles," you giggle, pushing his hand away. "you're annoying."

"ha, sorry," he laughs nervously, not sure what to do with his hands now so he reaches for the remote to press play. not far into the episode you curl up on your side of the couch, your knees tucked up beneath you as you lay down. jeonghan keeps an eye on you the whole time, attune to all your reactions and movements. he notices when you shiver, up in an instant to get a blanket.

"where are you going?" you call out, and he comes back wordlessly with the comforter from his room. he wraps it over you, using the rest of it to cover himself as he gets comfortable again. you find yourself dozing off, waking up every few minutes to see the progress on your favorite designers. you sleep through a whole section of the show, whining that you need to rewind, but jeonghan quietly explains what's happened and you're satisfied enough.

"do you want me to turn this off?" jeonghan asks after he sees your eyes closed again after you just complained about missing part of the show. you shake your head, not much of it visible outside of his blanket. you're noticing how nice his blanket smells, recognizing it as the same fresh scent that follows jeonghan around. it makes you feel at home, and that's part of what's making you so sleepy.

"i don't wanna go to my room," you admit shyly, feeling the tears from earlier just a moment or two away. "i'll stay awake, promise."

"do you want to sleep out here?" jeonghan asks, and you think about it for a moment. it wouldn't be the first time you had a little sleepover of sorts, both of you squished awkwardly on the couch or sleeping far apart from each other on someone's mattress that's been dragged out from one of your rooms. your silence decides it for jeonghan, and he says, "i'll go change, and then we can go to sleep." all you do is nod, getting comfortable beneath his comforter again as jeonghan slinks back to his bedroom to get ready for bed.

he comes back out and laughs to himself, your messy hair and scrunched sleepy face pulling at his heart. he knows someday he should tell you how he feels. he knows what you're looking for, and he knows he's perfect for you. it's just a matter of time before you figure that out, too.

-

a few days later, jeonghan was in the middle of a nap when he heard mumbling in the hallway and the sound of someone slamming doors. he was worried for only a few minutes, thinking it could possibly be an intruder, but as the mumbling gets closer to his door he knows there's a very frustrated y/n on the other side. he groans as he hoists himself up, shuffling to the door so he can peek out at you putting laundry away in the most irritated way possible. it's like you're trying to punish the towels for existing, and jeonghan can't help but laugh at the annoyed look on your face. it's cute, he finds himself thinking, but his chuckle pulls you from your dark thoughts and brings your anger to a new victim.

"what."

"nothing," jeonghan says defensively. "i thought someone was breaking in, you know, with all the banging around."

"shut up," you mumble, shoving the washcloths into the hall closet before slamming the door. you turn to your best friend and roommate, finger pointed accusingly, "i'm in a bad mood so don't piss me off."

"that explains the stress cleaning," he notes, and you ignore him.

"i'm going downstairs to put the dishes away," you grumble as you pass by him to get to the stairs, and he puts a timid hand on your shoulder.

"maybe do something that involves less breakables," he says coolly. "go punch a pillow or something."

"that's a good idea," you say, face lighting up slightly, and he laughs nervously as he finally asks what's wrong. "you remember that bitch of a dude who i was talking to a couple weeks ago?"

"gar bear?" jeonghan asks, and you roll your eyes.

"gary, yeah."

"what about him?" he asks, watching you unlock your phone and scroll to find something. you shove it into his hands, open to a very disturbing picture of a very ugly dick. "no."

"yeah. at three pm on a fucking thursday."

"stop making me look at it," he whines, pushing your phone back to you. "that's what made you mad?"

"yes!" you shout. "how did that thought process work? oh, this girl who i led on and then gaslit and then weirded out, she really needs to see my dick right now. it's the middle of the day! get a job! contribute to society!!!"

"why's he posing like that?" jeonghan asks, noticing more about the photo since you haven't locked your phone yet. "he looks so stiff."

"please stop," you say, but jeonghan sees a smile pulling at your lips.

"so what did you do?"

"i said 'what is your problem' and then i blocked him," you shrug, and he laughs.

"remind me to never piss you off," he says as he wraps an arm around you. "i'm sorry guys are assholes."

"i think i'm gonna become a nun," you mumble into his shoulder, staying in his hold maybe a minute too long. he presses a quick kiss to the crown of your head before letting you go, a blush on your cheeks that he takes pride in.

"you'd suck at being a nun, you're not nice enough," he jokes, and the way you glare at him makes him smile. "plus you fuck too much, aren't they supposed to be celibate?"

"forget punching pillows, i'm gonna punch you."

"sure baby," he chuckles, looking back at you as he walks downstairs. "you want food or something? i'll do the dishes. you just focus on not burning down the patriarchy."

"no promises," you mumble as you follow behind him. "but yeah, i wanna try this recipe i found the other day..."

it's over dinner that night that you realize how perfect jeonghan is. if only you could find a guy just like your best friend. someone who supports you, makes you smile, know how to get your heart to skip a beat. take, for example, his compliments. you like to joke to jeonghan that you need validation on your cooking, like tinkerbell, so whenever you cook for him the praises are nonstop. he's nothing if not supportive, so he tries to find things to comment on that he knows will make you blush. it works, and you do your best to tell him to stop without making it obvious that your heart is doing somersaults at his words.

this is what you want from a relationship, you find yourself thinking. you want to be comfortable with them, feel supported, all the things that jeonghan gives you. that night, you scroll through your dating apps, looking for a guy you think could meet those standards. in reality, you spend the whole night comparing the men on your screen to your roommate, subconsciously thinking of all the things you like most about jeonghan that these losers don't possess. you fall asleep like that, phone open to an empty chat, with jeonghan still on your mind.

-

so, a downside to living with jeonghan is you get the brunt end of all his weird energy. sometimes it's fun, and manifests itself in silly ways. like when you go thrifting, he takes it upon himself to find the weirdest thing in the store and insists on bringing it home. it means your apartment is decorated uniquely, but some of the stranger things you make him keep in his room. you haven't figured out yet that he only does this to make you laugh, loving how you smile sweetly at all the funny trinkets littered around your house. anything that goes into his room is eventually donated back to goodwill, its purpose served, doomed to delight another unassuming shopper some day.

other times, his weird energy comes out in worse ways. like today, he's not home, but you can feel that something's wrong. you know jeonghan is helping his friends with some video shoot, and he won't be home until much later. but there's a vibe in your apartment when you walk in. something is off, and it doesn't take you long to realize it. jeonghan has moved everything around, the couch where your kitchen table should be, the chairs from the table lined up in place of your couch. he's a strange one, your best friend, but it makes you laugh nonetheless, sending him a picture of the chairs and asking, "how am i supposed to fall asleep watching tv on this?!"

jeonghan smiles when he gets your text, shooting back, "watch tv in your room if you know you're just gonna fall asleep!"

really, he did the switcharoo for you to let your guard down. yes, moving furniture around is something silly that he would do, but he hid something further in the house that he wants you to find. he's hoping he'll be home when you do, but just the mere thought of your reaction has him chuckling. he goes back to whatever vernon wanted him to do, curious at each buzz from his phone, wondering if it's you.

jeonghan got the best of you, like usual. you did just go to your room, putting on one of your comfort shows so you could relax after a boring shift at work. you only get up to make a quick meal, dozing off again with the empty plate beside you. when the tv wakes you up you figure it's just time for you to go to bed, so you shuffle to the kitchen and notice a light coming from under jeonghan's door. he must have come home while you were napping, but it's late, so you go about your business. you drop your things off in the kitchen, returning upstairs to grab a washcloth and towel from the closet before you lock yourself in the bathroom. jeonghan is listening intently as you move around, waiting for the sound of the shower curtain pulling back and-

"JEONGHAN?!"

with sock clad feet that send him crashing through the now open bathroom door, he greets you with a shit eating grin. "you rang?"

"what the FUCK is that doing in here," you bellow, pointing at the plastic skeleton jeonghan found at the party store earlier that day. he thought it would be funny to hide in the apartment, at first just thinking about propping it up in the kitchen like the dead guy was making a meal, but the idea of scaring you a little was too good for him to pass up.

"man, when was the last time you cleaned your bathroom?" jeonghan jokes, "he must've been in here a while."

"fuck you," you spit, heart still racing from the surprise. that's when jeonghan notices something: you're naked. well, not entirely. like, you definitely don't have clothes on, his eyes flicking down to see your discarded panties and sleep shirt on the floor. he can't see the goods though because you're dangerously holding a towel over your body, one edge of it slipping as you reach out to try and punch jeonghan.

"what, you don't like him?" jeonghan pouts, stepping out of the bathroom to protect himself. "i thought you said you wanted to start decorating for halloween."

"this is not what i meant and you know it, you jackass," you try to say meanly, but jeonghan finds it cute. "it scared the shit out of me."

"i'm sorry," he says finally, hands twitching to reach out and grab you by the waist so he can rub comforting circles on your skin. but he can't. he physically shakes his hands out, a thing he does often enough to reset his mind that you look at him quizzically.

"why'd you do that?" you ask, and he clasps his hands behind his back defensively.

"felt like it," he shrugs. you roll your eyes and reach for the door, grumbling more expletives at him as you try to shut it in his face. "um, y/n?"

"what."

"you gonna shower with him?" jeonghan asks, pointing to your new friend. "i gotta admit, i'm a little jealous-"

"oh my god," you groan, grabbing the skeleton and throwing it at jeonghan with a comical clangor of plastic bones. "i hate you."

"love you too baby," jeonghan laughs as he closes the door for you, hefting the skeleton over his shoulder to go hide him in another corner of the house.

-

a few days later (jeonghan has hid the skeleton twice now), you come home from a date, dopey smile still on your face. you gasp when you see a body on the couch, thinking it's that stupid skeleton again. you breathe a sigh of relief when you realize it's a snoozing jeonghan instead. he looks angelic, his soft features shining brightly even in the dark room, illuminated by the tv. you don't realize that you're staring, nor do you realize jeonghan is peeking at you, the sound of the door waking him up.

"hey," he calls quietly, startling you. "sorry. i can go back to sleep and you can keep staring."

"i wasn't staring," you say defensively.

"sure," jeonghan nods, checking you out. "you look nice."

"who's staring now?" you ask as you cross to the kitchen. "i went out to dinner, but the portions were too small. do you want something to eat?"

"no, i'm good!" jeonghan calls. "was it a fancy place?"

"what?" you ask, coming back into the living room with a bag of chips. "i couldn't hear you."

"where you ate," he clarifies. "you dressed up, the servings were small, must have been a fancy place this guy took you to."

"how'd you know i was on a date?" you pout.

"y/n, i know you better than anyone else," jeonghan chuckles. "it was obvious. how'd it go?"

"good," you nod, ears burning under jeonghan's close attention. "don't wanna jinx it though."

"ok," jeonghan nods. "well i'm glad it was a good date. you deserve one of those."

"how was your night?" you ask. jeonghan shifts on the couch so there's room for you to sit and join him. once you're settled he explains how his friend seungcheol had come over for drinks, but he left a little while ago.

"i think he's got a girlfriend and doesn't want to tell me," jeonghan says, "because he feels bad that i'm not seeing anybody."

"you want me to find you a lady?" you tease. "you know my friends love you, i'm sure it'd be easy.''

"no," he shakes his head so some of his hair falls in his eyes. it makes it easier for him to stare at you without you noticing. "i'm good."

"well, it's a standing offer," you say as you get up to return the chips to the pantry. when you walk back through the living room, you ask, "where's jack tonight? i'm about to shower, i don't want another heart attack."

"i put the skeleton in your bed," jeonghan smiles with an impish glint in his eyes. "i figured it would be a nice surprise for the poor sap you might have brought home."

"you're annoying."

"thanks!" jeonghan chirps, and you laugh before telling him goodnight. he watches you go, smiling at something on your phone. jeonghan feels a pang in his chest ever so slightly, but he shakes it off, turning the tv off before he goes back to sleep trying not to think about you.

-

the following week, you're acting off. jeonghan notices immediately, but he doesn't bring it up to you at first. he's not sure if maybe work is stressing you, or maybe you've got family stuff going on...whatever it is, he'll give it a day or two before he checks on you, knowing how you like having time to yourself before someone swoops in to help.

the reality is, you really like this guy you've been talking to. that first date was amazing, and you wanted to go out with him again as soon as possible. you talk all the time, always ducking into your room when he calls while you're around jeonghan. you're actually ignoring jeonghan a lot, which you feel bad about, but you just can't get enough of this new guy. even though you're talking a lot, it's hard to set up another date with him because you're both busy with work. you've got plans to hang out on sunday, and for the first time in a long time, you're excited for a date. not nervous, not dreading it, just pure schoolgirl crush excitement.

that's why it's so crushing when, a few hours before, the guy texts you and cancels. you play it off at first, asking when he's free to reschedule, but his response is basically telling you to get lost. it hurts your feelings more than it should, because he is just some loser dude, but you also didn't know him that long. you have no reason to be so devastated over this, but you are.

jeonghan knew about your second date with this guy, so he made plans to be out of the house for as long as possible on sunday. as selfish as it was, he didn't want to be there for the giddy getting ready (you always ask him for outfit advice and he always tells you that you look great) or for the nervous pacing while you waited for the guy to pick you up (jeonghan always distracts you with jokes to calm your nerves). he also didn't want to be there after the date, if you happened to bring the lucky guy home. so he's out running errands, bothering his friends, and killing time until he's sure he won't walk in on anything he doesn't want to see.

when jeonghan gets home, it's late. after his day of farting around he went to his friend wonwoo's apartment for a while to heckle him while he played video games, and wonwoo finally kicked him out.

"don't you need to go home to your girlfriend?" wonwoo had teased, and jeonghan kicked him from his spot on the couch.

"y/n's my best friend and my roommate."

"so basically your girlfriend," wonwoo smiles that little smile of his, and it annoys jeonghan.

"she doesn't think of it like that," jeonghan mumbles, looking for his phone so he can head home anyway.

"because you're being too subtle."

"i'm not trying to be anything!" jeonghan says defensively. "i don't want her to know."

"why not?" wonwoo asks, finally turning to look at his friend. "you afraid she'll say no? because we all think-"

"i'll see you later, ok?" jeonghan says quickly, his shoes barely on as he tries to unlock the door. "hope cheol doesn't kill you again."

"in his dreams," wonwoo mumbles, his attention effectively back on the game and off of jeonghan.

jeonghan comes home to a mostly dark apartment, the stove light in the kitchen the only indication that you got home before him. he stops at the door to make sure there's no...unpleasant sounds coming from elsewhere, and when he's met with silence he kicks his shoes off carefully before heading to his room. he's exhausted, hiding from you all day being a good way to wear a person out. when he passes by your room something catches his ear, and his heart stops. were you moaning?

jeonghan knows he shouldn't, but he presses his ear against your door, telling himself he's only doing this so he can decide if he needs to stay somewhere else tonight. he's waiting to hear another voice, a man's voice, but he's met with a quiet whimper, followed by some sniffles. his heart roars back to life hearing that, almost breaking to pieces when he realizes you're not moaning, you're in your room crying. he's opening the door before he knows what he's doing, and you jump out of your skin at the unwelcome intrusion.

"go away," you whisper. jeonghan ignores you, coming to your bedside and looking down at you with concern in his eyes. "jeonghan, please. go away-"

"why are you crying?" he asks, and you don't say anything. "what did that asshole do?"

"nothing," you sniff again, willing your tears to stay back as you try to appease your roommate long enough for him to decide you're fine and leave you alone. "h-he was bu-busy and had to cancel-"

"fuck him."

"yeah, whatever," you say shakily. "it doesn't matter. i'm fine. now leave. please." your eyes are closed, trying to hide the tears that are welling up, and jeonghan is so quiet you assume he left, but he's trying not to let his own emotions show as he calls your name.

"y/n," jeonghan whispers, and when you look up at him you can't help it. you start crying again seeing him so upset over you being so upset, and before long you're back to bawling your eyes out. you barely register jeonghan cooing softly at you, climbing into bed and scooping you up into his arms. his lips are pressing soft kisses up and down your hairline, and it makes you cry even more. this is what you want, you think. this is what you need, what you've been missing. you want a boyfriend that will care for you like jeonghan does, that will be there for you like jeonghan is. it physically hurts you to think that you may never have that, that there's a possibility you'll never feel that kind of romantic love from someone. and you want to say that, you want to tell jeonghan why he came home to you pathetically crying so much, but he doesn't care. he just wants you to stop, so he'll hold you in his arms whispering sweet jokes to you until there's no more tears. he gets the slightest smile out of you right before you doze off, hands bunched into his shirt holding on for dear life. jeonghan holds you tighter, pressing one last kiss to the tip of your snotty nose before he drifts off to sleep with you.

-

you wake up later, not quite in the morning, but a few hours have passed. you're not used to sharing a bed with someone, especially when that person has such a vice grip on you as jeonghan does. once your mind has registered that you're awake, you also feel the burn of someone's eyes on you. sure enough, when you peek into the darkness of your room you see jeonghan staring back, eyebrows creased and teeth nibbling his bottom lip.

"stop chewing your lip," you tell him, reaching out to tug it from between his teeth. "i'm fine. you don't need to worry about me."

"wrong," he replies, watching you intensely as he brushes a strand of hair behind your ear. the quiet that follows has your face heating up, and the heat spreads through the rest of your body. it feels like every point where jeonghan's body is pressed against yours is on fire, and you want to pull away. but you don't.

"why aren't you in your room."

"because i wanted to sleep here," he replies. "i hope that's ok."

"it's not-"

"bummer," jeonghan cuts you off. "i'm not leaving."

"i'm not crying anymore though," you point out. "so. i'm fine."

"nope," he shakes his head. his bangs fall back into his eyes, and you think briefly he must need a haircut, but you hope he doesn't get one. the long hair suits him, even if it keeps him from seeing sometimes. you don't think about it, your hand unclenching his shirt and instead reaching up to brush his hair out of his face. jeonghan watches you carefully, and your breath gets caught in your throat when you look back down to his eyes. he's staring at you so intensely you can feel it in your chest, and that's when it hits you: jeonghan. you want a boyfriend like jeonghan. well! jeonghan's right here! what are you gonna do about it?

"jeonghan, i..." you trail off, staring at him like you're seeing him in a new light. he waits patiently for you to go on, thinking you might explain the situation a little more, but you don't know what to say. you just get hit with the intense need to bury your face in his chest, breathing in his scent and listening to his heartbeat as you fall back asleep.

"what?" he asks, trying to encourage you to keep speaking.

"um, can i just-" you try, but instead of speaking you just nuzzle into his chest, nose at the base of his neck tickling his skin. "i want to go back to sleep."

"then sleep baby," he whispers as he squeezes you tighter, afraid to let go. as you fall asleep, you let your hands relax against his chest, one of them laid right over his racing heart.

-

the next morning, you wake up to an empty bed and almost convince yourself you dreamed up jeonghan last night. like an oasis in the desert, he came to you when you needed him most. a little part of you wishes it wasn't real so you could go back to a time where you didn't know your true feelings for jeonghan, but your mussed sheets proves it wasn't a dream. jeonghan's scent is still lingering on your extra pillow, and you take a deep breath and remember how it felt to be wrapped up in your best friend.

jeonghan comes back into your room with two coffees in hand and he sees you nuzzling your face into the spot where his head laid just minutes ago. he lets you wallow for a moment before he calls your name softly. you jump up, cheeks warming as you look at jeonghan in your doorway.

"morning," he smiles. he hands you your coffee, your cold hands brushing his and sparking warmth across his skin. he stops himself from leaning down to kiss your forehead, knowing that whatever intimacy you shared last night is probably left in the past. you were sad, and jeonghan was there to comfort you. he'd happily do that a million times over, but he doesn't think you feel the same way he does.

"jeonghan, i'm sorry about last night," you try to apologize, but he shakes his head.

"don't," he stops you. "i would do it again if you needed it."

"well if you find me crying over some loser again tonight you have full permission to slap me," you tell him. "one night was enough."

"noted," he laughs, awkwardly standing in your room, unsure if he can get back into bed with you. you pick up on the way his eyes keep flitting from you to his spot, and you pat the empty space so he'll sit down.

"stop being weird," you say, bumping shoulders with him once he's comfortably next to you again. "so how'd you sleep?"

"pretty good," he starts out, "but there was this really annyoing sound coming from your side of the bed?"

"oh you mean me crying?"

"no, like this really loud, obnoxious snoring, kinda like-" jeonghan starts demonstrating, sending you into a fit of giggles and a pushing match to get him to stop.

"i think that was you!" you shriek, carefully trying not to spill your coffee. "don't spill that in my bed, i'll kill you."

"and then who are you gonna cuddle at night?" jeonghan asks, regretting it when he feels the tension between you both.

"i could always cuddle with jack," you joke to break the awkwardness, and jeonghan rolls his eyes.

"i hate that you named the skeleton."

"the skeleton is a guest in our home," you tease him. "show him some respect."

"whatever, freak," he says before downing the rest of his coffee. he gets an idea then, turning to you to ask, "what are you doing today?"

"um, nothing except work," you reply. "but you know my job is barely real so i'm basically doing nothing."

"let's go get coffee," jeonghan says, a playful look in his eyes.

"we just had coffee," you point out.

"no, no, we'll get good coffee, you can do some work, i'll watch you do some work, it'll be great," he insists, getting up and pulling you out of bed with him.

"if you're still trying to cheer me up i swear i'm fine," you say through your laughter, pressing back against jeonghan trying to push you toward your closet. "you don't need to take me for coffee or do anything else to make me feel better. i'm fine now."

"glad to hear it," he smiles softly, squeezing your hand that's clasped firmly in his. "but i still want to get coffee, so get dressed or everyone at the cafe will see you in that god forsaken t shirt."

the t shirt in question is one that jeonghan found for you during one of your goodwill visits. for whatever reason, it says 'i shaved my balls for this' and it got the biggest laugh from you all night, so jeonghan had to bring it home. despite being awful colors (light blue paired with neon yellow) it's actually quite comfortable, and you love the way it makes jeonghan laugh every time you wear it. it's unironically become your favorite sleep shirt, but you are mortified at the thought of anyone aside from your best friend seeing you in it. you quickly change, grabbing your work laptop from your desk before you head into the living room to find jeonghan waiting for you.

it's not unusual for him to take you out on random adventures, but this one feels different. he stays closer to you than normal, insists on buying your drink, and you catch him actually watching you work.

"get a hobby," you mumble, looking down at your laptop so he hopefully won't see your blushing cheeks.

"this is my hobby," he says. "i'm hanging out with my favorite person."

"seungcheol's going to be very sad to hear he's been demoted," you tease.

"he knows where he stands," jeonghan says, still watching you intently. you can't take it anymore, staring back at him.

"seriously, pretend to read or something! you're distracting me."

"i'm distracting you?" he smiles. "why? i'm not doing anything."

"i'm sending this email and then we're leaving," you say, and he shrugs.

"if you want, baby."

baby. it hits you harder this time, jeonghan's silly little nickname for you. you thought it started off as a sarcastic thing, but recently you feel like it sounds sweeter and sweeter coming from his lips. after last night, it makes your heart skip a beat, and that's when it hits you: are you on a date with jeonghan right now?!

"wait. waitwaitwait. hold on," you say, pointing at jeonghan and then yourself. "is this a date? are we on a date?"

"what? no baby," he shakes his head, and now you're confused. "no, if we were on a date you'd know."

"what's that supposed to mean?" you squeak out.

"do you want us to be on a date right now?" jeonghan counters, and you know your blushing cheeks have you in trouble. "you do?"

"i-i don't know-"

"hm, you wanna go on a date with me," jeonghan says matter of factly. "well, that's good to know."

"what are you doing?" you ask as he starts cleaning up his space.

"oh i need to go back to the apartment," he says. "gotta get my laptop so i can start planning a date that's worthy of you. i'll see you at home?"

"jeonghan, what?" you're left sputtering as he heads to the door, not looking back even though he knows your staring. he's afraid you'll see the excited/nervous shake in his hands, so he needs to go cool off. well, that and plan the best date of your entire life. he's got a lot of ground to cover. thankfully, the idiots you usually grace your time with have set the bar pretty low. jeonghan is determined to bring it higher, so high in fact that you won't be able to go on another first date without comparing it to his. if things go right though, maybe you won't have to go on a first date ever again.

-

jeonghan left the coffeeshop before you, so it would make sense if he was at the apartment when you got back, right? wrong. you come home about an hour later to an empty home, no sign of jeonghan. you think that's fine, it gives you a chance to actually get some work done. but jeonghan being mia has you a little nervous. what's he doing? he said he was going to plan a date. for you. and him. you and jeonghan...on a date? that's crazy.

you've done a good job ignoring that whole concept, trying to get ahead on a project you need to present later this week. you're so hyperfocused that the whole day goes by before you realize it, and when you finally emerge from your room you really expect to find jeonghan in the living room. he's still gone, so you decide to text him, asking casually if he would be home for dinner. the domesticity isn't lost on you, and it makes jeonghan smile when he gets it. he decides to call instead of texting back, balancing his phone against his shoulder and his cheek once you pick up.

"you miss me or something?" he asks, and you can hear the smile in his voice.

"i was just curious," you reply nonchalantly. "you've been missing all day."

"i've been busy."

"oh ok."

"i'll be home soon though," he tells you. "don't make dinner, just make sure you're dressed in an hour."

"for what?"

"a surprise."

"i need more information and you know that," you scoff, and you hear jeonghan chuckle.

"dress nice, but not fancy. and wear something blue so we'll match," he explains, and you feel your cheeks warm. "i gotta go, but i'll see you soon, baby."

hearing that coming from jeonghan now makes your heart skip a beat, and it makes you wonder if you've always felt like this and you just didn't notice. you keep thinking about him as you get ready, steaming out a dress you were planning to wear on a date that didn't happen. it's a soft blue with long sleeves and a low tie in the front. you worry for a moment that it might be too revealing, but checking the time rushes you into action. you're almost ready when there's a knock at the front door, which you ignore. there's another knock, this time louder, so you grumble your way to the living room to peek through the peephole. you gasp when you see what's on the other side.

you throw the door open, revealing a visibly nervous jeonghan with a bouquet of flowers in his hands. he's wearing a blue shirt, almost the exact shade of your dress, and he openly stares at you with a happy smile and a look in his eyes that you've never seen before.

"jeonghan?" you ask, pulling him from his intense focus on your chest.

"y/n," he smiles, eyes flicking up to yours. "you look stunning."

"i'm not ready yet," you pout slightly, checking the time on your phone. "you weren't very specific about when you were coming home."

"you look perfect," he says, checking you out again. "what else could you need to do?"

"wouldn't you like to know?" you tease, and he rolls his eyes.

"i can give you ten minutes, but any longer than that and we'll be late."

"late for what?" you ask as he passes you the flowers. "these are beautiful by the way, carnations are-"

"your favorite, i know," he smiles softly. "you buy yourself a bunch almost every time you're at the grocery store."

"i can't remember the last time someone bought me flowers either," you mumble, opening the door enough for jeonghan to come inside. "what are you still doing out there? it's your house, come in."

"finish getting ready," he laughs at you, reaching for the flowers again. "i'm putting them in a vase, weirdo. you'll get them back when you're done getting pretty."

"i'll be back," you whisper, running off before he can see how nervous you just got. you try to calm your nerves as you finish your touch ups, panicking last minute over which shoes and purse go with your outfit.

jeonghan is sitting on the couch, your flowers in your favorite vase on the coffeetable. he perks up at the sound of you shuffling down the hallway, but he pouts when he sees you holding up all your shoes.

"y/n, we're gonna be late."

"i don't know which ones to wear," you say simply, and he smiles as he comes up to you, analyzing the choices. he picks the white shoes and the white purse.

"glad we're still keeping this tradition alive even though i'm the one taking you out this time," he says proudly, watching you get situated. you stand back up, mussing your hair one last time before he asks, "ready to go, beautiful?"

"i don't know why i'm so nervous," you tell him, taking his arm as you leave the apartment. "we hang out all the time."

"yeah, but this isn't us hanging out," jeonghan says as you wait for the elevator. "i'm taking you on the best date of your life. nerves are completely valid."

"are you nervous?" you whisper, leaning in so jeonghan gets a good whiff of your perfume that he loves finding traces of all through his life. he holds your gaze, eyes flicking down momentarily before he shakes his head.

"no, i thought i would be, but i'm not," he replies simply as you get on the elevator.

"ok good, so i'll just freak out for the both of us then."

"would you? that takes a lot of pressure off of me," jeonghan jokes, and you pinch his arm. "ouch! so mean to me when i've made the perfect night for you."

"and what does this perfect night entail?" you ask. jeonghan just shakes his head, leading you out into the lobby of the building. he takes you a different way, not walking to the parking garage but instead to the main entrance of your building. "jeonghan, are we walking there? i don't think i can make it in these shoes-"

you stop mid-sentence, spotting the shiny baby blue mustang convertible parked outside. you look at jeonghan, mouth open in surprise. he has to tug you down the hallway and out into the cool night air, helping you into the passenger seat with ease. you watch on in shock as he gets into the driver's side, finally cutting through the fog in your mind to ask, "do you even know how to drive this?"

"yeah," jeonghan says coolly, opening the glovebox to hand you a scrunchie of yours that he stole. "here, you might wanna put your hair up."

"you're insane," you tell him, playing with the scrunchie in your lap as he starts the car. you can't believe this so far, and the date's barely begun. what other surprises could he possibly have in store for you?

-

after a quick ride out of the city, you find yourself at a retro drive in that's completely empty. you have a sneaking suspicion jeonghan rented it just for the two of you tonight, but you don't have a chance to ask. once he parks, he's asking you to open the glovebox and you smile when you see the stack of movie theatre candy boxes he's stashed away. you take them out, turning back to jeonghan to see he's produced a tub of popcorn from somewhere and a couple of your favorite sodas. you stare at him with your mouth opening and closing like a fish and he just smiles proudly in return.

"jeonghan, what did you do?" you finally ask, and he laughs.

"do you like it?"

"what are we doing here?"

"watching a movie," he says obviously. he shifts the snacks, the drinks going into the holders by the radio and the popcorn and candy going on the dashboard. "come closer," he mumbles, tugging your arm. the smooth vinyl of the seats sending you flying into jeonghan's side, and you giggle nervously as you adjust your dress. jeonghan lays the snacks out over your laps and drapes his arm across your shoulders for good measure. he looks at you to gauge whether you're settled or not, and when he decides you're ready he presses on the horn once. the screen in front of you lights up, and you gasp as you see the opening credits for your favorite movie flashing before you.

"where did you get the idea to do this?" you ask him with a smile, taking a few pieces of popcorn to give you something to do with your hands.

"just thought it would be something different," he shrugs, and you leave it at that. you can barely focus on the movie, hyperaware of how warm jeonghan is next to you and how every glance he casts your way sends your heart racing faster and faster. a few minutes into it, you remember your hair is still tied up from the ride, so you shuffle out of jeonghan's grasp to pull the scrunchie down and reset yourself. you know jeonghan is watching, so you mumble, "watch the movie, weirdo."

"i've seen it before," he whispers back, eyes still heavy on you. "i'm not missing anything."

"you've seen me before too," you point out, leaning back into his side once you're done moving around. "quite a lot, actually."

"yeah, but i've never seen you on a date before," he says. "and on a date with me? whoa. i gotta soak it all in."

you turn to look at him then, admiring the way his hair falls so slightly into his eyes, the way his lips stretch over his shy smile, how his eyes glisten when they meet yours. you could kick yourself for not noticing any of this sooner. who knew you had exactly what you were looking for right here?

"jeonghan, i-" you start, but realize you don't have the words to tell him what you want to say. you stop, staring at him with your brows furrowed cutely.

"what, baby?" he laughs, his thumb coming up to trace the creases in your forehead. "you're gonna give yourself premature wrinkles like this."

"why are you doing this?" you ask quietly. "why are you so...wonderful? all the time?"

"because," he shrugs, his hand falling from your forehead to rest just below your chin. "i've been trying to show you what it would be like. took you long enough to come around."

"show me what?" you ask confused.

"what it's like being loved by me," he smiles back. you feel your breath catch in your throat, and you want to say something. you want to tell him how you feel, how you're sorry it took you so long, how you love every moment you spend with jeonghan by your side. instead you just lean forward, lips brushing over his. you bring your hands up to his neck, wrapping them in the soft hair at the back of his head as you scoot impossibly closer and try to press all your love into this one kiss. jeonghan keeps his hold on your chin, thumb stroking softly at your cheek. he's the first one to pull back, laughing when you try to bring his lips back to yours so quickly. he leans his forehead against yours, soft hair tickling your skin as he asks, "so you get it now?"

"yeah," you nod, knocking your heads together and sending you both into a fit of giggles. jeonghan steals a few more kisses, and when you finally calm down he pulls you back into his side, squeezing you as close to him as possible. you lay your head down on his shoulder, pressing your lips into the closest part of him you can reach. "thank you, jeonghan. my jeonghan."

"my y/n," he sighs, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "my beautiful, kind, funny girl."

"stop staring," you whisper bashfully. "you're missing the movie."

"i'm not missing anything," he repeats, but he takes one last look at you before he kisses the top of your head and finally turns back to the screen. this might be your first date with jeonghan, but it certainly won't be your last.